


Masque of Shadows

by eliddell



Category: Slayers (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And I had to do much too much research about things like guns and helicopters, Drama, Genocide, Homelessness, M/M, Organized Crime, Refugees, Religion, Some comic-book science, This got weirdly topical in spots, no magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-06 01:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 138,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11590296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliddell/pseuds/eliddell
Summary: When he was fourteen, Val lost everything—his home, his family, and his future. Since then, he's been living on the streets in Seyruun City and trying not to attract the attention of any of the several groups of people who want him dead.All that changes one rainy night when he meets an unusual priest (and I'm not talking about Xellos) . . .





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started with a bit of fun-with-seiyuu and a piece of fanart, and then balooned out of control in a big way.
> 
> Gaav's voice in the Slayers anime was supplied by veteran seiyuu Nakata Jouji, who also voiced the evil priest Kirei Kotomine in the Fate/Stay Night (both the original and Unlimited Blade Works) and Fate/Zero anime series. A fellow Gaav/Val fan who is probably reading this sent me a piece of fanart of Gaav dressed in Kirei Kotomine's outfit (with a pink ribbon in his hair!) and mentioned that she would be interested in reading a Priest!Gaav/Val fanfic. And that started the wheels in my head moving and eventually turned into this . . . thing. Which is probably a whole lot darker than what she expected.
> 
> I didn't expect this story to end up this long. Or to take this long to write. Part of the problem was that I was trying to write two other stories simultaneously with this one, and apparently that was one too many. I'm almost finished the other two as well, though. Which means I'm probably going to be posting a chapter a day for the next three or four months. o_O;;;;;
> 
> As usual, I'm following the anime canon, except for a few bits and pieces from the novels that snuck in there.
> 
> _The Slayers_ belongs to Hajime Kanzaka and a bunch of other people, not to me.

"Yeah! Get the little—" 

The wind tore the rest of the shout away, not that I cared what it said. The exact words didn't matter. They were out for blood, and they wouldn't stop until they got some. 

_Run. Just run._

The breath burned in my lungs as I fled through rain that was falling in solid sheets. Yesterday's newspaper, picked up from the gutter outside a coffee shop, had said it was the tail end of a hurricane, pushing much further inland than usual. I hadn't given a flying fuck until the basement of the half-burned-out abandoned building I'd been living in for the past few months had started to flood out and forced me to look for someplace else to spend the night. Too bad I'd been dumb enough to leave my own turf while I was doing it and run into the gang of assholes currently on my tail. 

I'd tried to fight, but there were a dozen of them and only one of me, and they were not only better-armed, but had some idea of what they were doing. My left eye was almost swollen shut, and I had two stinging knife cuts on my right arm and something painfully wrong with the other wrist. I'd known the moment that guy had come at me with a length of pipe that I had to get the hell out of there. I just hadn't done it quickly enough. 

Thunder rumbled, and a second later, the streetlights overhead went out with a _fzzt!_ Not that visibility had been all that great in the first place, but now I couldn't see to put one foot in front of the other. There was no light anywhere, and I had no idea where I was—somewhere near the edge of the warehouse district, I thought, but I didn't know those streets at all well. 

I couldn't hear them behind me anymore. It might just have been the wind and thunder and the rain, but the muscles in my legs were burning and I wouldn't be able to run much longer anyway, so I took a chance and slowed down to a jog, then a walk. Nothing. The dark must have been the last straw for them. 

It might end up being the last straw for me as well. The rain had soaked through my jacket, and it wasn't a warm night. Now that I wasn't running anymore, I was starting to shake. You could die of being cold and wet, I knew that. And it was pushing midnight on a weekday and there were no lights anywhere and I couldn't call for help, because the only cellphone I had was stolen and I'd probably end up in jail, or worse. 

But after all the shit I'd been through, I wasn't going to just lay down and die—I'd keep walking for as long as I could, and when I couldn't walk anymore, I'd crawl. Until I found somewhere safe and dry where I could lay up and maybe have a chance of living through this. 

Was that . . . ? Yes, yes, it was! Just the tiniest flicker of light. I probably wouldn't even have noticed it if the streetlights had been working. I turned toward it, and lightning flashed, giving me just a moment to figure out that I was looking at a building set slightly back from the road, with a tower perched on top of it and funny arch-shaped windows . . . a church, in other words. 

_Please be unlocked,_ I prayed as I forced myself up the two steps to the door—probably the first honest prayer I'd made since I was fourteen and my life had come crashing down around my ears. It wasn't an idle one, either. Churches in the better parts of town might leave their sanctuaries unlocked during the day so that anyone could stop in if they felt the need to chat with Ceiphied, but this wasn't a good part of town and it was pretty damned late. 

I grabbed both doorhandles and pulled. One of them moved, and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

I stumbled inside, into the candlelight, and a huge figure suddenly appeared between the light and me. 

I found myself laughing, a cracked, crazy sound. "Should have known one of you fuckers would get here before me," I found myself saying. "It's probably the only unlocked building for a dozen blocks. Well, if this is the end, I'm still not going down without a fight." I raised my clenched fists, and told myself it was just the candlelight that made it look like they were wavering back and forth. I threw a wild punch and struck warm, dry cloth with a firm body underneath. 

A big hand clamped around my arm before I could draw it back. "I think you've done enough fighting for today." A man's voice, deep and gravelly, but . . . unexpectedly warm. "Were you actually outside in this?" 

"Y-yeah . . ." Stupid body—I was inside a warm building, and _now_ my teeth decided to chatter. 

"Come over here where the light's better." Not that I had much of a choice, since he was towing me along behind him. Whoever this guy was, he was strong. 

The candles from the altar lit his face from underneath, making him look almost demonic without giving me a good sense of his features, but I could see that he was wearing a black shirt with one of those weird collars. So he was a priest. _Big_ son of a bitch, though. Head and shoulders taller than me. Which had to make him over seven feet. The only impression I got and kept of his face was of bushy eyebrows knotting together as he looked me over, though. 

"Knife cuts, split knuckles, and that eye of yours would probably be an interesting shade of purple if I could see it better," he rumbled. "And you're soaked through and shaking. I _should_ call an ambulance, but I get the impression that isn't what you want." 

I winced. "I'm in a bit of trouble . . ." I admitted. 

He sighed. "Figures. Okay, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to take you back to the manse, get you out of those clothes, have you take a shower, and feed you some coffee, 'cause it's the only thing I've got that's hot and I won't be able to make anything else until the power comes back on. Then I'll have a look at those cuts and the eye. The cuts are going to scar if I'm the one who sews them up, though." 

"I'll add them to my collection," I said. "Thank you for doing this, Father." 

"Kirei Kotomine. My name," he added as he picked up a candleholder, lit the candles sticking out of it, and began to lead the way toward a door inconspicuously hidden behind the organ. "What should I call you?" 

It was a very carefully phrased question, I thought. Not, "what's your name?" but "what should I call you?" Inviting me to use an alias if I wanted. There was no real point, though. "Val. Thank you again, Father Kotomine." It was a weird name, _Kee-ray-ee Koh-toh-mee-neh_. Not local. Maybe from somewhere in the south. 

He grunted acknowledgment, and I followed the dim candlelight along a narrow hallway and out into what was probably a kitchen when you could see it properly. 

"Just a sec," he said, and lit a thick candle standing on the table, then handed me the candleholder he'd been carrying. "The bathroom's through there, first door on the left." He gestured at an opening in the far wall. "My robe's hanging on the inside of the door. It'll be too big for you, but take it anyway. Hang your wet clothes over the towel rack for now. Don't stay in the shower for too long—I do need to look at those cuts. By the time you're out, I should have found the first-aid kit." 

I followed his instructions and found the tiny bathroom. Someone of his size must barely have been able to turn around in there, and I had a hard time finding enough space to balance the candle-holder on the edge of the sink (although it might have been easier if my hands hadn't been shaking). I stripped down, hung up everything except my briefs, and stepped into the shower. 

By the time I stepped out again, I was thinking almost straight. Wondering if I could get a couch out of the good father, and maybe even a better meal than the small fries I'd wolfed down outside the Magi-Burger drive-through at two o'clock this afternoon. Or was it yesterday afternoon by now . . . ? Maybe it was safer not to push it. 

There was only one towel out, so I used that, put my briefs back on,. and then had a look at the robe, or tried to. It was made of some kind of dark fabric that didn't reflect the candlelight very well. Under my fingers, it felt plush, but well-worn, and I was able to wrap the sash two full times around my waist. I had to pull wads of fabric up and over that sash before the hem was short enough that I could walk in it. Once I had it sorted out, I headed back out to the kitchen. 

Father Kotomine had indeed found . . . well, some kind of medical kit, anyway. And one of those flashlights with a lamp on the side. I took a look at what was laid out on the table, and winced. I'd been expecting bandages and gauze and sterile wipes, and the kit had those, but it also had needles and scalpels and forceps and a bunch of things I didn't even know the names of. 

"What the hell is all that?" 

A shrug. "Field surgery kit. I picked it up some several years ago when I was a missionary. Don't worry, I don't expect to need most of it tonight. Actually, there are parts of it I'd prefer not to ever try to use, but sewing someone up isn't that difficult." 

I swallowed. "I'll take your word for it." One step forward, then another, because I was damned if I was going to tell him I was scared—and of what, really? He'd have to work hard to make me hurt more than I did already. I reached out with my left hand for the back of the chair beside his—the only other chair—and winced. I'd forgotten that I'd messed up my wrist, too. 

"I haven't seen that expression in a few years, but I remember what it means," Father Kotomine said. "I saw you move your fingers, so it's probably just sprained. I'll strap it up for you. First, though, I want you to drink this. It'll be a problem if you go into shock on me." 

_This_ was a cup of coffee, doctored with milk and sugar until it was sweet enough to make my teeth ache. I drank it anyway. It did seem to make me feel a bit better. And it gave me a legitimate way to stall for time. I drank it all the way down to the dregs before I reluctantly set it aside and held out my right arm to Father Kotomine. 

He pushed the too-long sleeve up past my elbow, turned the flashlight-lamp on, and examined the knife-cuts, which splayed out like a bird track, cutting across an old scar at different angles. 

"Looks like I was right in thinking these were pretty shallow," he said. "This one's a bit deeper, so I'm going to put a couple of stitches in it anyway. The rest, I'll just clean out and tape up." 

I nodded, and swallowed. He chuckled, a warm, rough sound. 

"Relax. I'm not going to torture you. It's no worse than any other needle. Of course, I've known guys who could take any amount of damage in a fight with a smile, but fainted the moment a medic laid hands on them. I hope you're not one of those." 

I shook my head. _I am not going to be a coward in front of this man._ "I'm fine," I said. "Just get it over with." 

I shuddered and tensed as he ran an antiseptic wipe over the cuts—that crap stung like a beehive—but I didn't try to pull the arm back. Then the needle. He ended up doing three stitches, slowly, with a look of deep concentration on his face. Then bandages went on over everything. 

"Now let me see the other wrist." 

I held it out, and he squinted at it. He also probed a couple of spots with his fingers, making me wince. 

"So, am I going to live, Doc?" I joked. 

"Yeah—I'm just trying to figure out whether it's this or your eye that needs the ice worse, 'cause I've only got half a tray of ice cubes, and I doubt I'm going to be able to get more until the power comes back on." 

"One-eyed is probably easier than one-armed," I said. 

So I ended up holding what was left of the ice pack to my eye after it had been around my wrist for fifteen minutes and he was wrapping the sprain for me. 

"I'll check it again in the morning. In the meanwhile, the couch is through there. Help yourself." 

"Thanks." Actually, it was a better bed than I'd had in quite a while. 

The last thing I saw that night as I wrapped myself up in a knitted something and lay down was Father Kotomine, bent over the kitchen table, writing something by candlelight.   


* * *

  


**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

. . . good thing I'm writing this in code, although why I'm writing it in the first place is another question. It's pretty shitty as therapy, but I guess it's what I've got. 

That kid's going to be trouble. I can feel it in my bones. His eyes burn, even by candlelight. He's angry. He hates. He'll fight the world to get what he wants, and either flame out young or come out on top. There's no third way for someone like him. 

He reminds me of me, when I was that age. It wasn't so long ago, either. When did twentyish start to look so fucking young? Or, maybe more to the point, when did I start feeling so fucking old? 

How long have I been here? Six years? Eight? It feels like half a lifetime, and like no time at all. Like it's some stupid fantasy and in half an hour or so, I'm going to wake up somewhere else, somewhen else. Maybe it's because I can't shake the sense that I'm just marking time, waiting for something to happen. Or maybe I'm hoping that if I marinate in the peace of this place long enough I'll stop yearning for something else. 

But really, who the fuck am I trying to kid? I was raised and trained to fight. It's what I'm _for_. Hiding here will never feel right, never be satisfying. Even though it's what I fought toward for so long.


	2. Chapter 2

I woke to sunlight falling across my face, and spent several seconds wondering where the hell I was before memory kicked in. _So that's why everything aches._

I sat up slowly, discovering in the process that Father Kirei's oversized robe was navy blue, and the knitted . . . thing . . . I'd dumped on top of it last night was a combination of angry orange and puke green. 

I wrinkled my nose at it, and heard a chuckle. "One of the ladies in the congregation here gave that to me. She's colourblind and evidently thought the green yarn was brown until someone told her otherwise." 

"And you took it?" I asked, turning to face the kitchen . . . and then having to swallow hard. _That_ was Father Kotomine? I'd realized the night before that he was a big guy, but I'd . . . well, I guess I'd had a kind of default image of what a priest was in my head, one that looked an awful lot like the one at the church my family had worshipped at when I was a little kid. Old and stooped, with white hair that was thin in front. And false teeth. 

Father Kotomine was none of those things. He didn't look like he could be much more than thirty, and he wasn't just big, he was _built_. The T-shirt he was wearing stretched tight across broad shoulders, thick biceps, and an impressive set of pecs. It was looser lower down, but that just suggested really tight abs and a trim waist were hiding under there. His face was strong-featured, handsome in a harsh sort of way. The bushy eyebrows I'd noticed last night shadowed intent blue eyes, and he had a crooked, wicked grin that tempted me to smile back at him. And then there was the hair. It was thick and blood-red, tied back in a sort of loose tail, and long enough to almost brush the floor as he sat in that kitchen chair. When he was standing, it had to go all the way to his knees. 

I licked lips suddenly gone dry as I felt something jump to attention inside my battered briefs. I'd always had a thing for big guys, not that I'd been able to indulge it often, and he was _perfect_. What the hell was he doing as a priest? 

"This isn't a wealthy church," he was saying. "I take whatever people give me, and then try to pass it on to someone who needs it more. I haven't been able to find anyone to take that thing, though. Not enough colourblind people around, I guess." He took a deep gulp from his coffee mug. "Anyway, if you need the bathroom, go now. I need to shower and get into uniform soon if I don't want to be late for the morning service." 

"Thanks," I said. "I'll be quick." And I was: I ducked in, used the toilet, grabbed my clothes, and ducked back out again without bothering to dress. No reason I couldn't do that in the living room while he was showering. 

Him. Showering. Droplets of water running down over that chest, over washboard abs, and then lower . . . Even if he was a bit less than proportionate, he had to be hung like a god . . . 

I shook my head. _If I keep on thinking about it, I'm going to throw myself at him, and I'm going to be embarrassed when he says no._ I had no illusions about how desirable I wasn't—who would want a skinny, scarred-up street kid with no future? And that assumed he was into guys, which I doubted. 

"Val. Hey. You looked like you were a million miles away there for a moment." 

_No, only about ten feet and through a wall._ I forced a smile. "Sorry. What were you saying?" 

"Help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen before you go. You look like you could use a good meal or two. Keep on putting ice on your wrist and your eye for today if you can—ten or fifteen minutes, three or four hours apart. If you're gone before I get out, I'll see you in a week to take out the stitches, okay? And if it looks like the cuts are turning the wrong colour or leaking pus, then get yourself to the hospital—at that point, not having it looked at by a real doctor could mean you end up dying one-armed in the gutter." 

I swallowed. Nodded. "I usually heal well, but thanks." 

I watched his retreating back as he headed down the hallway, pausing by a door that didn't lead to the bathroom to grab what were probably his priest clothes before ducking inside. It wasn't until I actually heard the shower running that I pried myself away and went to investigate the kitchen instead. 

There was a computer tablet, an old, battered one of a brand that I didn't recognize, lying on the table beside his coffee mug, with the browser open to the site of the Seyruun Times. My first thought was, _he just left that here with a stranger in the house?_ Then the clinical, professional, _I might get ten bucks for it if I fenced it._ I'd seen people give better devices to their toddlers. And ten bucks wasn't worth losing this man's trust. 

I took his _help yourself_ as permission to snoop through the cupboards and the fridge once I was dressed, though. The cupboards held mismatched dishes, two loaves of cheap bread, a lot of canned stuff that you could just put in a pot and heat up—soup, stew, spaghetti sauce—a bag of macaroni, some spices, a box of cookies, and horse-choking amounts of instant coffee and cheap tea bags. I only felt a little guilty as I swiped a dozen of the tea bags. He had plenty. 

The fridge had eggs, margarine, peanut butter, a bag of carrots, three kinds of homemade jam, a gallon of milk, and a gallon of orange juice. PB &J wasn't exactly a normal breakfast, but I wasn't going to fiddle with the stove, and all the ingredients were here. I picked the strawberry jam and went to it. 

Three sandwiches, two bananas from the fruit bowl on the counter, and two glasses of milk later I felt a lot better than I had in quite a while. Usually I eked out my cash by buying as little food as I could. I couldn't remember the last time my stomach had felt full. The last time I'd swallowed my pride and gone to the soup kitchen down on Third, maybe. 

_Time to go,_ I told myself reluctantly, and set my dishes in the sink. The back door was easy enough to identify, and I forced myself to open it and follow a muddy path around to the front of the building, past a tasteful assortment of crumbling gravestones. It had to be a pretty old church, because they didn't often have the cemetery on the grounds anymore. 

Once I reached the front, I turned around for a look at the sign. _Lower Waterford Church of Ceiphied._ Not very enlightening . . . except . . . there was something niggling at me . . . 

A moment later, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Just "Church of Ceiphied", not "Church of Ceiphied Arisen". 

What were the odds that in my very moment of need I'd walk into an Old Rite church? 

My mother would have claimed it wasn't coincidence at all. She'd always been very devout. 

I touched the medallion that rested against my chest under my shirt. It was the one thing I still owned that came from that period of my life. I'd kept it, even though I didn't believe myself, even though there were times when having it had put me in danger, because without it, I would have lost the last link to my family and my past. 

Another thought came to me then, and I winced, then gave a bitter laugh. _Of course. Of course the first guy I ever really fall for would be . . . inaccessible._

Old Rite priests and priestesses weren't _quite_ required to be lifelong celibates. They were allowed to marry and have sex with their spouses. It was strictly heterosexual marriage, though, and they had to petition the church hierarchy first. 

No way was Father Kotomine ever going to violate a dozen of the church's rules just to take up with me. 

So a week from now, I'd come back and have him take those stitches out, and then I would go away and never let myself get close to this place, or to him, again. 

The rain might have stopped, but it was still cloudy out, and the ground was wet, with water running loudly in gutters, ditches, and storm drains. It kind of suited my mood. I think the power might still have been out in some places, too. I passed a couple of old electrical poles leaning out over the street at an angle I really didn't like, held up mostly by the wires strung from them, and gritted my teeth and balled my hands in my pockets as I passed near them. My legs still ached from last night, and I didn't want to run. 

Starting from the mostly-abandoned commercial district that had been downtown Waterford before the city swallowed the town up and turned it into a suburb, I passed through a corner of the warehouse district, then a low-end residential area. A shortcut through the rusting bones of a never-completed building let me avoid the nightclub district. That was mostly Syndicate-owned and -run, and they took a dim view of independents like me. 

Then I was . . . well, it was a pretty pathetic excuse for a home, really. I think it had been some kind of small factory once, where a half-dozen people hand-made furniture or weird recycled crap, but at some point it had caught on fire. The roof had been taken out and most of the building gutted, but I'd found out by chance that part of the basement was intact and set up a sleeping bag down there. It was cold and dreary, but as far as I was concerned, it beat sharing an armpit of a flat with twice as many other guys as there were bedrooms. At least it was quiet and private. 

Or it had been. I stopped halfway down the flight of cement stairs and contemplated what was at the bottom. The water was muddy and ugly-looking and probably knee-deep and I really didn't want to go wading, but it offered the best chance of recovering the small bundle of stuff I'd stashed up on a built-in shelf near the ceiling. 

I was about to take a step down into it when I heard a splash. 

"Who's there?!" I snapped, reaching for a heavy chunk of wood and hoping it wasn't too rotten. 

"Boss? Izzat you?" 

I relaxed at the sound of the familiar voice. "Yeah. I'm out on the steps." 

Scrambling and splashing noises, and two figures stumbled out through the old propped-open fire door. 

Since Jillas was five-foot-nothing, the water was up to his thighs, and he made faces as he slogged his way through it. At least if he fell in, his fox-orange hair would make a good beacon to use to find him down there in the mess. He had a narrow face that people tended to describe as "rat-like", and moved quickly and jerkily. I hoped he wasn't using again. He wasn't reliable when he had access to more than a certain amount of cocaine. He'd been tossed out of university when he'd been unable to pay for both his drugs and his tuition. 

Gravos, by contrast, was a good six and a half feet tall, and had to duck to get through the doorway without banging his head on the exit sign that dangled just below the edge of the frame. A scratch across the top of his shaven head suggested he maybe hadn't been careful enough on the way in. The water didn't come up over the tops of his thick, ugly boots. "Thick" applied to a lot of things about Gravos, from his thought processes to the layers of muscle and lard around his middle. He worked as a construction labourer when he could find anyone who would hire him. 

"We thought you might've drowned," the little man said. 

I shook my head. "I figured out there was a problem before the rain got too bad, stored my stuff on the high shelf, and got out. Ended up spending the night at a church, of all places." 

"I tried that once," Gravos said. "They threw me out." 

I rolled my eyes. "I seem to remember that had something to do with you trying to steal the wine from the harvest offering." 

The big guy scratched the back of his head and looked sheepish. "How was I supposed to know it wasn't there for people to drink it?" 

"By watching what everyone else was doing, maybe? Oh, never mind," I added when Gravos got that familiar stubborn look of incomprehension on his face. "Anyway, it looks like I'm going to have to find somewhere else to stay until the water goes down." 

"Our couch is always there for you, Boss," Jillas said immediately. 

I grimaced. "I may have to take you up on that." I'd stayed at their apartment before a few times, when it was too cold to sleep in an unheated basement, and borrowed their shower every few days regardless. Their place was a roach-infested pit, but it wasn't like I had any better option. 

Jillas waded over to the steps and climbed up out of the water. His nose wrinkled as he looked down at his wet jeans. "So when's our next job?" 

"I don't have anything lined up yet." I hadn't even been thinking about it, because I hadn't yet quite been at the point where I needed the money. 

I'd been fourteen years old when I'd stowed away on the boat that had brought me to the north. Fourteen, with no ID and a dangerous secret lodged in my brain. Knowing that if I was identified by the authorities, I'd probably be deported, and that meant I was dead. 

So I'd had to hide in the kind of places where no one asked any questions, and find some way of supporting myself until I could buy a fake ID. But there weren't a hell of a lot of options for an underage illegal. Just three of them, really: dealing, turning tricks, or stealing. The thought of having sex with strangers for money made me feel sick, and low-level dealers tended to end up taking the fall for their Syndicate masters whenever something went wrong, so I decided on petty theft as the most acceptable. 

I hadn't intended to become the leader of a small gang of inept thieves, but then I'd scraped Jillas out of the gutter where he'd been dumped after not making a payment to his dealer promptly enough and hauled him to the all-night clinic downtown to get patched up, and I'd been unable to get rid of him afterwards. He'd brought Gravos along with him, and ever since then it had been the three of us. 

It might not be much of a life, but I felt better about it every time I remembered all the people I'd known who probably would have given everything they owned to be where I was today. Because it would have meant they were alive, instead of rotting in a mass grave. 

"Give me a day or two," I added to Jillas, who was still looking at me expectantly. "In the meanwhile, Gravos, since you've got boots on, can you go get my sleeping bag and the box with my other stuff in it from the shelf by the back door? Then we can get going." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I didn't get a good look at the kid when he first showed up, what with the candlelight shit. I didn't realize until I checked on him before leaving for my morning run that he had a pretty nice face. Too thin, of course, just like the rest of him, but he's got good bones. And a nice, tight ass, too. 

He's also got way too many scars. Most of the ones that show when he's got his clothes on are just cuts that could have come from anything, but I caught a glimpse of one on his upper arm that has to be from a bullet. Big sucker, too. I'm surprised he still has a full range of movement. 

The Seyruunese army can barely muster one platoon on a good day, the local police handguns aren't that big a caliber, and given how tight the gun laws are here, even the Syndicate mostly sticks with smaller pistols—stuff that can be hidden easily and quickly. The only conclusion I can come to is that Val probably isn't from around here. 

Those scars are old, though. At least a few years. I can think of a few ways that a kid might have deserved those scars, but while he might be wary, it isn't the right kind of wariness for a child soldier. I'd bet on him having been someone's victim. I just don't know whose, or why. 

And why do I give a shit? 

That's the question, isn't it. I can't get the damned kid out of my head. Those burning gold eyes. The smirky grin. The way he moves, smooth and precise. In the old days, he's the kind I would have picked for special training . . . but it's more than that. He's . . . Ah, fuck it, I don't really know.


	3. Chapter 3

"Maybe we should break into a pet store and steal you two another batch of geckos," I said, flicking a roach off the counter. The employees of the pet store we'd burgled four years ago as one of our first jobs together must have been confused when they'd arrived for work in the morning and found their security system off, their safe broken into and rifled, and three lizards missing. I wondered if they'd ever figured it out. 

"Yeah," Jillas said, "those worked pretty well while we had 'em. Too bad they don't live longer. What're you doing up so early, Boss? It isn't like anyone's hiring for odd jobs on Ceiphiedsday morning." 

"I," I said primly, "am going to church." 

Jillas stared at me for a moment. Then he burst out laughing. "Really, boss, you had me going for a moment there." 

"I'm serious, I'm going to church." 

"You . . . Why?" 

I shrugged. _Damned if I know._ But I wanted to see him again, and this was, if not the perfect excuse, at least _an_ excuse. 

Him. Father Kotomine. With his long red hair and the wicked grin and gravelly voice that had been haunting my dreams. 

_I know you want this, Val. Come here._ The phantom touch of big, warm hands on my back, my ass, my cock. I shivered, just a little, shimmying against Jillas and Gravos' kitchen counter. 

Jillas' eyes widened. He blinked twice, then started to grin. "Oh- _ho_. Found yourself a good-looking _ma-an_ while you were there, didn't you, Boss?" 

I scowled. I would give Jillas this, he and Gravos had never given a damn that I was gay. When he teased me, it was in exactly the same way he would have teased a straight friend, just with a little . . . word substitution. "He's straight. I'm just having a hard time getting him out of my system." 

The little man actually looked sympathetic. "Yeah, I know how that one works. And it's really none of my business how you want to spend your time anyway." 

"Glad you realize that." I drank off the rest of my tea, made—ironically—with one of the cheap teabags I'd swiped from Father Kotomine's kitchen, and set the cup in the sink. "I should be back in a couple of hours at most. See you then." 

Retracing my steps back to the church starting from Jillas and Gravos' place meant going a bit out of my way to avoid the turf of the gang who had chased me in there in the first place, so I arrived there not five minutes before the service was about to begin. The doors stood open, and when I climbed the steps, the sanctuary turned out to be . . . not packed, but pretty well-populated. Now that I could see the place properly, I spotted all the details that identified it as an Old Rite church, like the huge dragon statue rearing above the altar. New Rite churches said that the descriptions of Ceiphied as a dragon in the old books were just a metaphor, and didn't display that symbol so much. 

I found a seat at the back, beside another young man who looked just as out of place there as I did: bookish, with hair falling down to cover one eye, dressed in an expensive suit that did nothing to hide an odd skin condition that turned his face bluish and scaly. He didn't even look up as I sat down. 

Everyone quieted as the doors were closed and Father Kotomine began to make his way slowly forward from the back of the church, carrying the traditional offerings of bread, meat, and drink on a silver platter. When he reached the front, he set it on the marble top of the altar before the statue and the unlit brazier, bowed to the statue, and turned to face us. The congregation rose as one, and he began the opening litany. 

The responses that I'd learned by rote from age four fell from my lips automatically even as that voice of his seemed to stroke me in places that . . . weren't appropriate to think about in church. I'd worn my jeans because the only alternative I'd had was even less presentable, but right now I wished they were looser. 

It wasn't until Father Kotomine turned away from us briefly to light the brazier that I realized that the strange young man beside me wasn't getting the responses quite right. Not that he was mangling the words or anything, but he was always half a beat behind everyone else, including me. He had to think about them. So he hadn't grown up in an Old Rite household. 

I thought he was two or three years younger than me, so was this some kind of teenaged rebellion thing for him? If so, it was a weird choice. There were demon-worshipping cults, little ones, scattered all over town. Most of the would-be rebels went for one of those. 

_Or maybe he's a young-looking twenty-five-year-old graduate student doing research for his thesis on Comparative Religions. Either way, it isn't any of my business._

As the offerings were burnt, I watched the sway of Father Kotomine's long red hair against his black-clad back as he gave each item in turn to the flames, and tried hard not to think about anything at all. 

_Ceiphied speaks to us in the empty spaces,_ my mother used to tell me. And although I no longer believed, right now I wanted . . . guidance. Reassurance. _Something._ Early training, I guess: I might not believe in the Flare Dragon, but I did want someone to tell me I wasn't utterly evil for standing here in the middle of a worship ceremony staring at one of His priests with a strong carnal interest. 

I raised my hand to my chest and pressed against the place where the medallion hung inside my shirt until I could feel it leaving a red mark on my skin. There were degrees of evil, and no matter what kind of filthy sinner I became, I wasn't _ever_ going to be on the same level as the man who had shot my pregnant cousin in the back, or the one who had knifed the baby next door to stop it from crying. 

I was the only one left to speak for the dead. I was the only one left to make sure the murderers got what they deserved. Although I hadn't really been making much progress in that direction over the past five years. 

Maybe that was the real reason I felt guilty. 

I still had nightmares sometimes. Corpses and guns and screaming. Smears of memory that never entirely connected one to the other, as though some parts were so horrible I didn't want to look at them even in my mind's eye. I'd had literal blood on my hands the next morning, caked half-dry under my nails, and I never had figured out whose, or why. I know I was left for dead in a pile of bodies, though. There was enough left to confirm that. 

A hard elbow nudged me in the ribs. "Hey. If you don't mind, I'd like to get out now." 

I blinked, and realized that the service was over. Father Kotomine had used the short form, without a sermon or much in the way of music, but I was still surprised that I'd wandered so far from reality that I hadn't noticed it ending. 

"Sorry," I said to the blue-faced guy in the suit, moving aside to let him pass. "I guess I spaced out for a moment there." 

He just sighed and went on past without saying anything more. It pissed me off a bit, since I'd made an effort to be nice, but maybe he was worried about being seen with someone who looked like me. I'd done the best I could to clean up this morning, out of respect to Father Kotomine if not the Flare Dragon, but I knew my best wasn't very good. 

Father Kotomine was waiting just inside the door, speaking to each worshipper as they left. I got there in time to hear him greet the blue guy. 

"Mr. Greywords. I'm pleased to meet you." 

"I can't imagine why," the blue guy mumbled, then blinked as he realized Father Kotomine was holding out his hand to be shaken. "Don't you think I'm contagious?" 

The priest raised bushy eyebrows. "I think if you were, you'd have the common sense to wear gloves." 

"It's hereditary," the blue guy said in his low, dull voice. "Recessive genes, or so they tell me. Of course, my grandfather claims it's the Flare Dragon's curse on my parents for their impiety. He's a bit . . . frustrating . . . that way." 

Father Kotomine shook his head. "Ceiphied isn't in the habit of dumping undeserved misfortune on us for His amusement. Your condition is the result of unfortunate natural factors. A curse didn't cause it, and a blessing won't remove it—but modern medicine might." 

"A priest advising me to see a doctor?" Greywords, if that was his name, seemed to think that was funny. 

"Being a priest doesn't mean that I've abandoned common sense. Ceiphied isn't in the habit of intervening physically in the world to solve problems we humans can handle ourselves. And it isn't fair to ask Him to siphon off energy from His eternal conflict with Ruby-Eye for our sakes. We're supposed to follow His example, not whine at Him to wipe our noses for us." 

Greywords actually managed a real smile. "My grandfather would say just the opposite . . . although maybe not quite in those words. He doesn't believe in Ruby-Eye, unless you mean the Ruby-Eye Syndicate." 

Father Kotomine shrugged. "I have no doubt that he's a strong believer in the Church of Ceiphied Arisen. But he isn't you. You need to find your own way, not just follow his because it's easiest." 

Greywords' smile turned thoughtful, and to my surprise, he bowed slightly to Father Kotomine. "Thank you." 

The red-haired man shook his head. "All I can do is offer you options. You have to decide for yourself what to do and which one to take." 

Father Kotomine watched Greywords leave, smile fading from his face. It wasn't until it did that I realized it had been forced, lacking that wicked little twist at the corner of his mouth. 

"I wonder if he even realizes I know who he is," he muttered, as though to the world at large. 

"And who is he?" I asked, also keeping my voice down. 

"'Greywords' is the last name of Rezo the Red Priest, although he goes out of his way to keep people from remembering that. And a little digging will turn up the fact that he has a grandson who's too ill to be seen in public." 

"Shit," I said involuntarily, staring at Greywords' back. I mean, everyone knew who Rezo was: the archpriest of the city's main Reform cathedral, the big one downtown, a position he'd risen to despite having been blind since birth. "I didn't even know he was married." 

"His wife, son, and daughter-in-law all died in a traffic accident. Or at least, the verdict was that it was an accident." 

"But you don't think so." 

"Let's just say that there are some aspects of it that struck me as odd. But there may be information that I'm not aware of, that they didn't release to the public. I was surprised to see you here this morning, Val," Father Kotomine added, reaching out to pull the door shut, and I realized belatedly that we were the only ones left in the church. "I wasn't even sure you'd come back to have me handle the stitches." 

I shrugged. "I've got nothing better to do, and at least it's warm in here, and quiet. I'm sharing a one-bedroom with two other guys right now, and they're good friends, but they're loud." 

"You knew the responses." He was testing me, I could tell. Sharp blue eyes watching me, probing for . . . what? I wasn't quite sure. 

I offered another shrug along with part of the truth. "I was brought up Old Rite, but I haven't been to a service since my family died. I thought it would hurt too much." 

"And now?" 

"I don't know. I got to thinking about it in the middle of the service. About how I'm the one's who's still alive, and . . . I haven't done shit with it, really. Just wasted it, living from hand to mouth and not knowing what to do with myself." 

"Wasted it," Father Kotomine repeated with a soft sigh, and looked away . . . but before he did, I caught a flicker of something in his eyes that might have been understanding. "I don't think there's . . . an innate meaning. The dead and the living are divided by skill and luck—mostly luck. We aren't _chosen_ to be on one side or the other. If we want meaning, we have to make it ourselves. What kind of memorial do you _want_ for your family?" 

Sudden stinging in my eyes. I turned my back on him, blinking. _I am not going to cry, not here. Not now._ "I don't know," I whispered. "I never thought about it." 

Suddenly there was a hand squeezing my shoulder. "Then work on it. There's plenty of time. I'll help you if I can." 

I nodded weakly. We just stood like that for a while, and then I left, alone, feeling wobbly-kneed, but . . . cleaner, somehow. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I don't know what the fuck's gotten into me lately. I should be making preparations to dodge Dear Uncle Rezo, in case he decides to check up on my know-nothing baby cousin, but I find myself thinking of Val, and of the past. 

I understand part of what I saw in him now, I think. If I asked him to fetch something from hell for me, I wouldn't need to give him a map or directions. He knows the territory just as well as I do. I don't know what happened to him exactly, but when he started to talk about his family, he got that million-year stare into nothing that I know so well. And like me, he's been frozen up ever since whatever happened, unable to move forward or back. Hiding out and marking time. 

I keep telling myself that every hour I spend here, away from them, not _helping_ them, is a victory, but that lost its power a long time ago. It's like I can feel myself shrinking, shriveling up into nothing, and if it goes on much longer, I'm going to blow away on the wind. 

I never used to be a coward. 

Maybe if I can help Val get unstuck, it'll unstick me too. I don't _know_ , fuck it all! I don't even know what I want. It feels like there's still a piece missing. I just don't know if it's a piece of me or of this fucking world. 

I can't help thinking that if there really is a Flare Dragon, he's probably laughing his ass off at me about now.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a warm day, and I sat at a picnic table in a shady corner of the park, fidgeting with a bit of fallen branch as I thought about memorials. Simple ones, like gravestones. And more complicated ones. 

Father Kotomine had hit the nail right on the head when he'd asked what kind of memorial _I_ wanted. Stuff like that's for the living. The dead . . . well, either they've gone on to their next incarnation, unable to remember what happened in the old one, or they're nowhere now. Either way, they don't care. 

I wanted their killers to pay. There was no getting around that and never had been, even though I knew it wasn't what they would have wanted. 

_Pacifist_ , as far as I was concerned, was the most disgusting word ever invented. It meant that you didn't care about the grief you caused your loved ones. It meant that, when it came down to the crunch and your choice was between letting your child be killed and fighting back against her attacker, you wouldn't have any idea how to fight properly and so your child would die anyway, a child who might have lived if you'd bothered to learn how to throw a fucking punch. It meant letting a bunch of assholes with an agenda wipe your people off the face of the map. 

It meant letting them get away with it. 

_I want . . . I want . . ._

I wanted to rip the lid off and shine light into the hidden places, to wipe away the paint they'd used to carefully cover up the bloodstains. I wanted the world to discover what they'd done. But my word alone wouldn't do it. Yeah, I could hear the responses now. _Surely he's deranged. Hallucinating. Is he even one of them? Why did he wait so many years to come forward?_ Deported, shuffled off quietly into an insane asylum, and, a few months later, equally quietly dead. 

The dead can't want anything. The dead also can't _do_ anything. I needed to live. I _wanted_ to live. 

I needed to dig up proof that didn't hinge on my word, and to make my own position secure. Then I could take them on. But I would never be safe while I remained a petty thief, living on the fringes of society. Getting away from that meant I needed ID good enough that it didn't have to be supplemented with a bribe or a sob story every time I used it. But anything genuine was beyond my reach, and the really good fakes cost a lot of money, unless you had Syndicate connections. 

Father Kotomine had offered to help me, and it was possible that he knew something I didn't about the whole legal-ID slog—the churches, both Old Rite and Reform, did a lot of stuff to help refugees and whatnot. And I thought I could trust him. It _felt_ like I could trust him, and not just because I wanted into his pants. There was an understanding between us. Something . . . warm. Invisible, but strong. But if I was wrong about him, everything would go sour pretty much right away if I asked him for help. 

Still, I wanted to trust him so badly . . . 

"And what the hell am I going to do if I don't?" I asked the twig I was still twiddling between my fingers. Just keep on doing what I was doing, odd jobs and petty theft, until I got caught and jailed, or knifed and dumped in a gutter? 

What, in the Flare Dragon's name, was I really surviving _for_? 

I was going to . . . trust him. Take the risk. Try to accomplish something. If I didn't, I was just going to stay stuck in this stupid rut. 

I felt ten pounds lighter once I'd made that decision. It sounds like a cliche, I know, but knowing that I was doing _something_ , going _somewhere_ , was a big relief. 

I smiled crookedly and tossed the twig aside. It was time to go back to church. 

When I got there, though, the front door was locked. There was a sign posted on it— _Back at 2:30_ —so I sat down on the steps to wait, leaning against the sun-warmed wood. I spent the fifteen minutes or so before Father Kotomine turned up idly watching the activity at the building across the street. I had no idea what they were doing there, and the sign outside, which read _QRS Inc_ , didn't give me much of a clue. 

"Val. I didn't expect to see you back here so soon. You keep surprising me," he said with a gentle smile. 

"I need to talk to you," I said, standing up and moving aside so that he could unlock the door. 

"I'm listening." 

"Privately. And quit with the fake smile. I know what your real one looks like, and that one doesn't suit you." 

One thing about him having such bushy eyebrows was that you really noticed them when they went up. 

"Observant," was all he said. "Come in, then." 

"What the h-heck do they do over there, anyway?" I asked as I stepped across the threshold, pointing back toward the QRS building and stumbling over my words because you didn't say _hell_ in front of a priest. 

Now _that_ was his real smile, with the twist to it. "The name doesn't tell you much, does it? As far as I can tell, it's a small factory for the kind of high-end, hand-assembled audio gear some people waste a fortune on. Is this going to be a long talk?" 

"Probably." 

"Then I'm going to have another coffee. You're a tea drinker, right?" 

I flushed. Had he noticed the missing teabags? "Y-yeah." 

"Don't worry, I've got plenty of both—being a generous host and a sympathetic ear kind of goes with the job." 

"Father-confessor," I said, echoing his smile. "It doesn't seem at first glance like it would suit you, but you seem to be making it work." 

"Not nearly as well as I'd like," he rumbled. "Some problems I just can't do anything about, and some people don't really want help. I try to save my energy for the times I might be able to do some good, but I misjudge a fair amount. Still, it's better than doing nothing." 

I nodded. _Better than doing nothing . . ._ There he was, echoing my thoughts again. 

We sat down at the kitchen table, each with a mug in our hands. I fidgeted with mine. Father Kotomine said nothing. I guess patience was another bit that went with the father-confessor thing. As for me . . . well, making the decision didn't make it easy to get the words out. 

"You said you would help me," I said at last. 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Why not?" 

"Because it could end up being a waste of energy?" 

He snorted. "Which I'd just end up spending on someone else, or wasting on something useless. Spit it out, Val—what's bothering you?" 

I took a gulp of cooling tea. As a method of steadying myself, it didn't work very well. "What would you do if I told you I was in this country illegally?" 

"Reassure you," he said, without missing a beat. "I'm sure you had your reasons, and I'd guess they involved immediate physical danger. I don't know what you're hiding under your shirt, but the last guy I knew who had scars like the ones on your face and arms had been tortured for information during a drug war. Under those circumstances, the last thing I would do is turn you in to the authorities, if that's what you were worried about." 

I closed my eyes and let a shudder of relief run through me. "I didn't really think you would. I . . . feel like I can trust you, although I couldn't tell you why." 

"We do tend to decide things like that based on gut feel, and not on logic." 

I drank some tea, slowly, trying to find the next words. _Just spit it out._ "I don't have any real ID—can't even safely write away for a copy of my birth certificate—but there's no way I can get ahead like that. If I want to get a real job, try for my GED, go back to school . . ." I shrugged, hoping that my frustration was clear enough. 

"Is that what you want?" 

"Yeah." 

"There's more to it than that, isn't there?" 

I swallowed. As far as I knew, there wasn't anything in Old Rite doctrine that explicitly forbade revenge. It wasn't considered worth spelling out. 

"Val. If it helps . . . they destroyed your life, pretty much, whoever they were. You have a right to be angry. It's perfectly acceptable for you to want to bring them to justice, and if you think you're going to enjoy hurting them back in the process . . . well, you're only human." Father Kotomine spread his hands in something that wasn't quite a shrug. "I know I wouldn't want that collection of scars you've got. And if I can do anything to stop the same happening to anyone else . . . consider me on board." 

"You . . ." I felt myself starting to tear up, and blinked fiercely. Cleared my throat. "I was born in Anahar." 

His face went blank, then settled into subtly different lines, although I wasn't quite sure what had changed. "You're from the Ancient Clan, then. I always did think the timing of that so-called plague was a bit too convenient: a government running on a theistic Ceiphied Arisen platform gets elected, and the only significant group in the country that didn't belong to that church gets wiped out a few months later by a fast-acting mutated virus that somehow doesn't spread outside the immediate area. I take it we're talking about the kind of virus that carries guns and rocket launchers. Army?" 

"Some of them, I think. The others . . ." I laughed bitterly. "Well, it was pretty obvious who they were. Anyone would have recognized the uniforms. Hell, I even recognized a couple of the officers, from seeing them on the news." 

Father Kotomine didn't say anything, just waited. 

"The Paladins of Gold," I said. 

"Shit," Father Kotomine growled. "Don't tell anyone I let that slip out," he added. "Despite their public propaganda, the Paladins aren't very nice people. I'd actually prefer to deal with the Ruby-Eye Syndicate—at least they don't pretend to be anything they're not. But the Paladins don't normally indulge in helping third-rate armies commit genocide in little backwater theistic republics. There has to have been something else there that they wanted." 

I shrugged. "If there was, no one told me. I mean, I was an ordinary teenaged kid. Not the kind of person the Elders were likely to take into their confidence. There were always those stupid rumours—that we had some kind of prehistoric weapon that could wipe out the world—but as far as I know, it was just nonsense." 

"If your Elders _had_ had something like that in their possession, where would they have hidden it?" 

"No idea. Buried it, maybe. It would have been hard to hide anything of any size. We just weren't set up for it." My tea was cold, I discovered when I raised the cup to my lips. I drank some anyway. "I want to find a way to make them pay. Both the government, and the Paladins. I figure the first step is hauling myself out of this rut I'm in. I need money, power, support. I'm not going to get that from where I am now." 

"It's an interesting problem," Father Kotomine admitted. "The Golden Paladins . . . Given how much effort they put into maintaining their image, it's going to take a lot to make people see the truth." He drummed his fingers lightly on the table. "You're right about you not being in any position to accomplish anything right now, though. We have to get you cleaned up and looking legitimate. After that, the next step is probably to snag ourselves a journalist, if we can even find one who wants to handle such a sensitive topic. If we can manage to ruin their reputation, the Paladins should tear themselves apart from the inside. The government of Anahar . . . that's going to be more difficult. I need to think about that one. We might have to start a political party of our own." He seemed to find the idea kind of funny. 

I was surprised he was getting so into this, glad I'd trusted him, and a little resentful that, in less than five minutes, he'd been able to come up with the bare bones of a plan that might just succeed if we worked hard enough at it. It wasn't a plan I especially _liked_ , given how badly I wanted to tear those killers limb from limb and watch them bleed and fear and hurt and die, but fighting my way through the entire militant arm of the Church of Ceiphied Arisen (which was what the Paladins were, no matter how much the church tried to hide it) _and_ a national government, complete with military, all by myself wasn't _practical_ , even if it would have made me feel better. 

"You're right that the first step is to do something about your legal situation," Father Kotomine added, oblivious to my thoughts. "If you don't want to try for refugee status . . . we'll just have to come up with something else. Worst case, we pay some girl to marry you, and—poof!—instant citizen, regardless of what position you were in before." I wrinkled my nose, and he chuckled. "Doesn't mean you have to stay with her. I think a year is enough to make the status stick, but I'll check up on the legalities. And try to come up with something better. I assume you don't mind if you end up Lyzeillian or something rather than Seyruunese, so long as you get a place to start from." 

"I don't really care, but . . ." My turn to raise my eyebrows. 

"You see, the thing about Lyzeille is that it wasn't until about ten years ago that they started storing all their records centrally," Father Kotomine explained obligingly. "Before that, every town had its own repository for recording things like births, deaths, and marriages. Some of them even still did it exclusively on paper. If I can find a town that lost a vault in the last few years before the transition—some place large enough that it didn't have one clerk that knew every single citizen by name—I might be able to con the government there into creating real documents for you. Too bad the Great Sairaag Fire was just a little too long ago, because that would have been _perfect_." 

"You've done this before." It came out sounding more accusing than I intended, and I still wasn't sure I believed it. 

"You're not the first refugee I've worked with who wanted to keep a low profile," Father Kotomine said, smiling that quirky, nasty smile of his. "If you're going to keep coming to services, you can try spotting the others. Regardless, I'll figure something out. Meanwhile, if you were serious about that GED, you've probably got some studying to do." 

I grimaced. "Um . . ." Studying had never been my favourite thing to do. 

"I'll get you the books if you promise me you'll make use of them." 

I _needed_ to do this, I told myself. "All right, I promise." 

He held out his hand, and I slowly reached out to take it. Warm touch. Firm grip. I could feel the strength he was holding in check, or at least I imagined I did. 

It was at that moment that something inside me cracked. At the time, I thought it was just gratitude, but later on I figured out that it was in that shabby little kitchen that I started to fall in love, not just in lust, with a certain redhead. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

. . . still don't know what the fuck I'm doing, but it's starting to become a more interesting ride. 

I think the damned kid's growing on me. Val, I mean. He really does have a nice face, scars and all, and the fire in those golden eyes is an incredible turn-on. I had to tell him to see himself out today so that he wouldn't get a look at the tent that was setting up in my pants. And I had to tell myself that he hadn't really been scoping me out, and that he was just disgusted at the idea of a marriage of convenience because he figured that if the girl was free and willing, she'd probably be ugly, not because he doesn't like girls at all. And I'm half again his age and . . . You'd think those excuses would be enough for me to be able to convince my fucking dick to butt out, but it's been years since I got some and I guess it's out of patience. 

That's one of the problems with this disguise. I mean, it does a good job of the _really_ important part, which is keeping anyone from finding me, but I'm starting to think it would be worth putting myself on their radar if it would help with the blue balls. Getting married's no good—the only way I can get it up with a woman is by closing my eyes and fantasizing about men. I've got the discipline to handle celibacy, but it sucks like a premium shopvac. 

The other problem is . . . well . . . okay, might as well admit it. Playing a priest when I don't believe in Ceiphied is starting to make me feel fucking guilty. I tell myself that believing in someone else's imaginary friend doesn't make him any more real, but . . . I don't know, fuck it all! After Val left today, I wandered into the main part of the church and just stood there in front of the altar, looking up at the statue and . . . wondering if there was anything listening, I guess. 

When I was Val's age, I didn't care whether I was hurting people or helping them. Now I look up at that statue and wonder if my lie's doing more good than bad. I do try to do the . . . tangible parts of the job, I guess you'd call them, comforting and advising and all that, because I hate doing anything half-assed even if there's no Flare Dragon up in the sky to check up on me. That's it. It isn't even because I'm atoning for what I did before. I was a stupid kid back then, one who worked for the wrong people because he didn't know any better . . . and anyway, I don't think it matters. 

I mean, let's say for the sake of argument that there is a Ceiphied. I don't think he's a fucking accountant, adding up everyone's tally of good deeds to see whether or not they outweigh the sins. And in my experience, the people who find that kind of shit comforting are self-righteous assholes anyway. 

If I had to make up for each and every innocent I killed because it seemed like a good idea at the time . . . well, how much fucking "good" does that even require? How many grieving would I have to comfort, hungry would I need to feed, sick would I need to visit to make up for just one person's life? I don't think it could be done. Doesn't matter which church's doctrine I pick: by any sane standard, I'm already damned. So if there was a Flare Dragon, I'd have to throw myself on his mercy. 

Fuck that. And double-fuck this philosophical shit, anyway. But in the end, I guess I'm an atheist, not just because there's no evidence for anything else, but because I find it kind of comforting.


	5. Chapter 5

"Damn," I muttered when I discovered I'd gotten nearly all the answers wrong. I sighed, leaned back in the chair, and ran both hands through my hair. 

I could handle history and grammar and all the rest of that stuff, but I'd always been terrible at math. 

"Having a bad time? Here, let me see!" Jillas snatched the sheet of paper I'd been writing on out from under my nose before I could do anything about it. "What's this, trig? What d'you want with that, Boss?" 

"I'm hoping to get my GED," I said—there was no point in hiding it. "Maybe go straight, even." 

"Huh," Jillas said, raising his eyebrows. "That priest's got you by the short-and-curlies, eh? Not that I'm surprised—got a look at him the other day, and he's _'zactly_ the type you go for, and turned up to eleven at that." 

"Shut up," I growled. 

"What—he ain't your type after all?" 

"Doesn't matter. He'd be defrocked if they caught him sleeping with me." 

"De-which?" 

I rolled my eyes. "How the hell did you manage to get into a university without knowing simple words like that? They wouldn't let him be a priest anymore, Jillas. Got it now?" 

"Yeah. Can they really do that? Why do they care, anyway?" 

"Old Rite is hierarchical, so yes, they can do that. As for why . . . they're about a hundred years behind the times on what's considered right and wrong, sex-wise." 

"Oooh. I get it now. So your priest's probably straight, eh?" 

"Straight or celibate, doesn't matter which. Can you give me my paper back?" 

"Oh, yeah. Sure." But Jillas looked at it again before handing it over. "Um, Boss . . . did you do any high school at all?" 

"About a year." It had been June when they—no. Don't think about that now. "I always sucked at math, though. I can handle grammar and crap like that well enough, but numbers . . . I just barely squeaked through algebra, with a lot of help from the teacher, and I don't get this triangle shit at all. I mean, what would you ever use it for?" 

"Some engineering and physics stuff. Statistics. Making maps. I needed it for a few of my courses, back when I was trying to get my degree, but you might never do a damn thing with it after this—lots of people don't. Listen, Boss, why don't I give you a hand with the math stuff? 'S one of the things _I_ was always really good at, in school—that and science." The little man grinned at me. "Just be glad you don't need to do calculus. Saw that melt a guy's brain once. All ran out his ears. Honest." 

"Honest? You?" I gave him an exaggerated sneer. Then we both laughed, and bent over the textbook Father Kotomine had given me, one of half a dozen battered volumes. Most of them had been scribbled in, too . . . but they were still readable, and that was what mattered. 

On the next try, with Jillas coaching, I got about half of the questions right, and made myself tea to celebrate. 

"Y'know, Boss . . ." 

"Mmm?" Half-listening to Jillas, I inhaled the scent of the tea. 

"I've been thinking." 

"It was bound to happen sooner or later, I guess." 

"Boss!" 

I sighed. "Okay, okay. What were you thinking about?" 

"Just that . . . if you're going straight . . . what happens to us? Gravos doing hard-hat work and me doing backstage at the local clubs . . . that just barely pays for this place and our food. There isn't a whole lot extra, if y'see what I mean . . ." 

Why the hell was I supposed to be responsible for these two? They were both older than I was, and Jillas was better-educated, as he'd just demonstrated. But who was I kidding? Even when he wasn't using, the little man sucked at long-range planning, and while Gravos might be a great guy, he had rocks between his ears. 

"If I get a real job instead of picking up odd bits, we should be able to afford somewhere that doesn't have roaches crawling all over it," I said. "Regular income lets you hook up with a better class of landlord, and groceries are cheaper in the better parts of town, weirdly enough, so you'll have more money to throw around. The burglary crap isn't worth it. No matter how good you are with security systems, something's going to go wrong sooner or later . . . and when it does, we'll all end up getting apartments at government expense, if you know what I mean." 

"Did that once for about six months," Jillas admitted with a grimace. "Possession—I didn't flush the stuff fast enough. And I don't want to do it again. But going straight . . . I don't know. Never seemed like much of a life to me." 

"Sorry about that, but I've got stuff that needs to be done, and I need to at least look clean while I'm doing it for a while. Say, if I do end up forming a political party, do you want to be my campaign manager?" 

Jillas blinked several times. "Boss, are you sure you're okay?" 

"It's old business, Jillas. From before I met you. Besides, politics is like stealing, except legal, right?" 

"You're starting to worry me." 

"Getting out of here may end up taking some crazy shit," I admitted. "Still, it's better than being stuck in the gutter until I die." 

"Val, I don't know if I wanna get tangled up in this. I mean, what're we talking about? 'S big, isn't it?" 

He hardly ever called me by name. When he did . . . it meant he was serious. 

"Murder," I said slowly. "Genocide. Corruption in the Church of Ceiphied Arisen. Maybe other stuff that I don't know about yet. Yeah, it's big." 

"Shit. No. Val, I can't do that. 'M sorry." 

I sighed. "It's okay. I'll pack up in the morning and move back to the factory, okay? It should be dry enough now." It had been more than a week, after all. I'd had the stitches out when I'd gone to pick up the textbooks, the bruises around my eye had faded to shit-brown, and my wrist was healed, as far as I could tell. 

It had only been a matter of time before something broke. I knew that. I'd invited change, and change wasn't always good. 

"Will you still help me with this . . . ?" I added, gesturing to the math textbook. 

"Yeah. Sure. It's just . . . Sorry. Sorry." 

"Quit saying it, okay? I already told you it was alright." 

"Yeah." Jillas was still drooping, though. So I punched him lightly on the shoulder. 

"Don't feel guilty. None of this crap is your fault." 

So I packed up the next morning, early, and went out the door before either of them were awake to see me off. Not that I had much to pack. Sleeping bag, a few extra clothes that I washed out when I could, the textbooks, and a few odds and ends like the well-thumbed deck of cards that I often played solitaire with. Nothing of value. I'd sold what there had been of that years ago. 

It was a very nice September morning, sunny and unexpectedly warm, and I . . . well, really, I didn't want to go back to that basement. I'd gone there the night before and used the mop and bucket from the old janitor's closet to clean off a section of the muddy floor, but really all the place had to recommend it was that it wasn't outside on a park bench and nobody ever went there except me. Tonight would be soon enough, but in the meanwhile . . . well. The public library wouldn't let me in carrying all my gear, and I wouldn't be able to ride the busses for long periods inconspicuously that way either. And I'd barely scrounged up enough cash to renew my bus pass this month, so the unlicensed porno theatre in the basement on Fifth was out of the question too, even if I thought I could stomach hours of listening to straight women sigh and moan at some ugly bastard today. That didn't leave a hell of a lot, except one place that was becoming altogether too familiar to me. 

The Lower Waterford Church of Ceiphied was open and deserted, as usual, although I'd figured out by now that Father Kotomine had some way of keeping an eye on the sanctuary from wherever he hung out most of the time. I sat down near the back and dumped my stuff on the floor beside me, then closed my eyes, just luxuriating in the warmth of a heated building. 

I know I dozed, because I didn't realize Father Kotomine was there until he shook my shoulder. 

"Val. Normally I wouldn't disturb you, but I've got a couple of people coming in in half an hour or so to set out fresh greenery and such, and they might think it was disrespectful if they found you here snoring. Going camping or something?" He nudged my sleeping bag with his foot. 

"Or something," I admitted with a grimace. "Remember how I told you I was sharing a roach-infested rathole with two other guys? Well, I'm not anymore." 

"Ah. Well, if you don't have anything better, you know where the couch is." 

I blinked. "You're serious. Aren't you afraid I'm going to rob you and knife you or something?" 

"Not while you've still got a use for me," he said, with that familiar grin. "You're not stupid, and you don't have a habit to feed as far as I can tell. Besides, I'm a light sleeper." 

"In that case, you might end up getting the full benefit of my nightmares." 

"Given what you've been through, I'd be surprised if you didn't have any. Pick up your stuff, and we'll go get you settled." 

The manse hadn't changed: quiet and shabby, with furniture that was mismatched and battered, but serviceable. I arranged my sleeping bag on the couch, slipped the box with my clothes and stuff under the coffee table, and stacked the textbooks neatly on top of it. Home sweet home, at least for now. 

Then it hit me. _Oh, shit, I'm going to be sharing the place with_ him _. . . Sooner or later, he's going to notice me getting a hard-on at exactly the wrong moment. Better start thinking up excuses._

On the positive side, I would be able to admire that body of his whenever I wanted. Which might make this the best Ceiphiedmas present I'd ever had, delivered four months early. 

" . . . try digging out the other bedroom, but that's a long-term project," he was saying as he opened a drawer in the kitchen and began to rummage through it. "I've been using it for storage, mostly. Eight years of accumulated junk. Kind of like this drawer. Right, here it is. Catch." 

I caught the small, spinning object out of the air and examined it. I was holding a key chain with one key on it. And the logo of a local grocery chain, printed on cheap plastic, but I figured that wasn't important. 

"It's for the back door," Father Kotomine said off-handedly. 

My hand closed around it, not quickly, but very tightly, until my knuckles went white. "You _do_ trust me." Even Jillas and Gravos had never given me a key to their place. 

"In for a penny, in for a pound," the priest said with another of those easy shrugs. "Scrounging up ID for you is more risky than letting you live here, anyway, and I already agreed to do that." 

I cleared my throat. "Thanks." I wanted to hug him . . . or maybe not, given how my body might react. Stupid body. 

"If you want to pay me back, then use this to help claw your way ahead. You're a smart guy, you've got potential—you shouldn't be stuck here in this rut." 

"I will. Although that makes me wonder what a certain other smart guy's doing here. Shouldn't you be at the High Temple in Sellentia or somewhere?" 

Father Kotomine chuckled. "Not a chance. I'm too practical to move up in the church hierarchy. They'd throw me out rather than risk letting me have any power. Safer for everyone if I just rot away quietly in Lower Waterford. I'm . . . useful . . . here." 

The expression on his face was kind of weird, though. Like he wanted to say something, but couldn't. Like there was something hurting him inside. He had a story, I was pretty sure. I just doubted he would ever trust me enough to tell me what it was. Trust only goes so far, and opening his home to me didn't mean he'd opened up his heart. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

Letting him live with me was a calculated risk. It's been a while since I last took a risk of any size. It feels kinda good. 

I've got to stop testing him, though. Although I doubt he realized the thing with the keys was a test. _Superior reflexes. Good hand-eye coordination._ And I didn't exactly go easy on him, either. 

If I'd met him ten years ago, I can't help thinking that the problems I had when I found out that Rashatt was reporting back to dear old Dad would never have happened. If I'd had someone like Val, I would just have tossed Rashatt out on his ear. 

The only problem is that he's too fucking tempting. Hell, there's this little devil on my shoulder that keeps whispering that if I chained him up in my bedroom, chances are that no one would ever find out. People in his position go missing every day. Some of them turn up in a hospital or the morgue or another city . . . but some of them never do resurface. 

He's still too skinny, but feed him up a bit, get him to build some muscle, and he'd be gorgeous. Even now, he's got a great ass. Nice and tight and I keep fantasizing about getting my hands on it. Judging from the bulge I've seen in his jeans a couple of times, he's probably got a nice big cock, too. And I'd bet he's starved for touch. Even if he doesn't swing my way, he might accept me just so that he has an excuse to be . . . cuddled. 

Fuck, I've got to stop thinking about this, because there's no way I can hide it when _I've_ got a hard-on. Short of taping my dick to my stomach, anyway, and that kind of thing hurts like a son of a bitch. 

My other problem with Val is the ID I promised him. It's . . . proving kind of elusive. Not enough disasters in Lyzeille in the right timeframe, not enough young women willing to marry for money. I'm starting to think I might have to become Gaav Magnus again, at least for a day or two, and look up some . . . old acquaintances. Risky, that. Very risky. But I promised him. 

I'm not sure just when that started mattering to me. Or why. Or if it would matter with anyone else but Val. I want him to respect me, and that means keeping my word. I want him to . . . to _like_ me. Like a little kid looking for someone to trade secrets with in the hidden corners where they can hide from adults for a few seconds. I thought I'd outgrown that shit years ago. Because if there's one thing I know, it's that they always betray you in the end. Always.


	6. Chapter 6

"What day is it today, anyway?" I asked, with most of my attention on that damned math textbook. 

"Fourth of October," Father Kotomine answered just as absently. He was scribbling in that journal or whatever-it-was of his again. 

My head jerked up and I dropped my pencil. 

"Something wrong?" the priest asked me, looking up as well. 

"Nah, it's just . . . it's my birthday tomorrow. I didn't realize." 

"Huh. How old?" 

"Twenty," I admitted. "Still not old enough to drink, in Seyruun, although I would be most other places." 

"Twenty," the priest repeated meditatively. "That seems like a long time ago, but I suppose it isn't really." 

"How old _are_ you, anyway?" It was a bit rude to ask straight out, maybe, but I'd been living with him for a couple of weeks now and I'd figured out that he wasn't an easy guy to offend. Good thing, too—I'd seen the inside of that spare room of his now, and it turned out that in addition to the storage, he had a sort of makeshift gym going in there. I'd tried to lift some of his weights while he was out one day, and found I needed both hands for the little ones you were supposed to be able to handle with one. He spent at least an hour in there every morning, too. You don't get the kind of body he had without some work, I guess, but that didn't change the fact that he could probably flatten me with one punch. 

"I turned thirty-one a couple of weeks before I met you." 

Only eleven years' difference. That wasn't too much to—no, don't think it. "I thought, um, you looked older." 

Father Kotomine chuckled. "You're not the first person to say so. I think it's the eyebrows." 

_No,_ I thought involuntarily, _it's the eyes._ Shadowed eyes that kept secrets. It always felt to me like he'd seen just as much horror as I had. 

"You want to celebrate it?" he was asking me now. "Cake, and all that stuff?" 

I shook my head. "I'm a little old for that." 

"You missed out on what should have been your last few years of it, though. Tell you what, I'll order supper in tomorrow night so that we don't have to eat my cooking, and if you want to invite a couple of people over, that's fine—just remember to tell me." 

He was always so damned _nice_ to me, and so far, I hadn't done a single thing for him in return. Hell, I hadn't even contributed a few bucks toward the food I was eating. 

And here he was being nice again. "Listen, the stuff for the annual clothing drive's started coming in. I'd like you to go through it and pick out a couple of outfits so that you aren't sitting there in a pair of track pants with holes up and down the side whenever you need to wash those." He gestured to the clothes I was wearing. 

"There's got to be somebody else who needs that stuff more," I protested. 

"Not in the sizes you wear. Mostly, we get more skinny-people clothes than we can give away, and end up donating them on." 

"Oh." I shook my head. "I guess I always thought that charity crap was easy—get some bleeding hearts to give you shi- _stuff_ , then pass it out to whoever wants it. I guess getting stuff that's actually _useful_ , and getting it to people who _need_ it, takes work after all." 

"More of it than you'd think. Hundreds of hours of cleaning and sorting and arranging, just so that people who need something might have a chance of finding it." 

Maybe there was something I could offer him after all. "Is there anything I could do to help?" 

"Lots, if you don't mind hauling boxes, feeding washing machines, and putting stuff on hangars. Boring, but not difficult." 

I smirked. "Well, it's got more going for it than trig, then, 'cause that's boring _and_ difficult. Count me in. It'll make me feel a little less guilty about asking you to throw me a pizza party tomorrow." 

"Is that what you want to do?" There was that familiar off-kilter grin of his. 

"You did kind of offer. Yeah, I figure I could invite Jillas and Gravos over, maybe watch some movies or something . . . pretend to have a normal life for once." 

He shrugged, just a little bit. "You deserve it just as much as anyone else. More than some. What do you want on your pizza?" 

It ended up being the best night I'd had in years. 

Jillas and Gravos turned up at four, and the smaller man even had a package in his hand, carefully covered with wrapping paper. It was Ceiphiedmas wrapping paper, mind you, but you couldn't have everything. 

"Happy Birthday, Boss," Jillas said, holding out the gift. 

"You didn't have to, you know." How long had it been since I'd gotten a birthday present? I tore off the paper. Inside was a shallow box with no top, containing a worn cellphone and a charger. 

"It ain't hot or nothing!" Jillas said when I looked up, surprised. "Deejay at the club I was working the light system at last week gave it to me. It was his old one. Gravos and I both pitched in on the cheapest plan we could find. Lasts a year, and you've got five hundred minutes and a couple of hundred texts—the brochure with all the detail crap's at the bottom of the box." He hesitated, and added, "I figured, if you're going your own way . . . might be nice if we had some way to talk to you. In case you ever need us. And I put some stuff on it that might be useful. Just in case." 

My eyes stung. I blinked. "Thanks, guys. Come on in." 

"We, uh, brought the beer," Gravos said tentatively as he kicked his boots off. "If no one minds." 

"Go ahead," said Father Kotomine, who was just putting that journal of his to one side again. "Val's still technically underage, but I always thought Seyruun's laws about that were a bit silly anyway, so I'm not going to rat you out." 

"Told you he was an okay guy," I said. "Just sit down wherever. And don't worry about that thing on the couch. It isn't really going to try to eat you." 

"Coulda fooled me, Boss." But Jillas grinned as he said it. 

We ate and drank and watched part of the stack of really bad horror flicks I'd gotten from the thrift shop, with closeups of lizards the length of your hand busting up plastic models of Seyruun and the wires holding up the vampire's plastic "bat form" showing and stuff like that. Poking fun at them all the way, of course. It wasn't the first time I'd noticed that Father Kotomine's sense of humour wasn't really . . . suitable for a priest. And judging from what he said at one point, he knew how to fly a helicopter, although for all I knew piloting was a popular elective at the seminary. Just another one of those weird little details that made up the man. 

He handed me a big manila envelope while the credits of the lizard movie were rolling. Just handed it to me, without saying anything much. And then I opened it and found a lot of official-looking papers. Birth certificate, passport, Seyruunese resident's visa and work permit. For one Valtier Agares—I'd broken down at one point and told him my full name—age twenty. Native of Baritone, which was northeast of Anahar, on the far side of Alto and Sastha. 

"You did it," I said softly, hands shaking. "You really did it." 

"I promised you, didn't I?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, you did." I broke into a grin so wide it made my face ache. "I'm kind of tempted to ask someone to pinch me, though, so that I can make sure I'm awake. Still, why Baritone?" 

"Long story, but the short version is that I called in a favour." Father Kotomine turned his head away, obviously unwilling to continue discussing the subject. Leaving me with several questions, like, _What kind of favour?_ and _From who?_ that I didn't quite dare ask. 

Jillas must have been thinking along those lines too, because when the priest excused himself to go check on something, the little man watched him go, then hit pause on the DVD player and half-turned to face me. "Boss, who is that guy, really? There's no way that he's just a priest." 

I shook my head. How the hell did I explain Father Kotomine in just a few words? All I had was a bunch of details that didn't add up to a complete picture. On the one hand, he'd taken me in and doctored me up when he really didn't have any reason to, and he pretty much worked his ass off keeping the church running. On the other hand, while I could just barely see why a priest out doing the missionary thing might have a medical kit like the one he'd shown me, seriously, why would he have learned how to fly a helicopter? And just yesterday morning, I'd gotten up a little earlier than usual and surprised him in the bathroom, and he'd shifted his grip on the straight razor he was holding in a way that had made me think for a moment he was going to attack me with it . . . 

"I think it's what he is now," I said slowly. "But I don't think that's all he ever was. If I had to guess at this point, I'd say ex-military. Probably not ex-cop—he doesn't have that kind of a vibe to him." 

"Hmm," was Jillas' only response. Well, that and unpausing the DVD player. 

But even with the questions, it was a good night. The last fun time I ever had with those people, in that place. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

What a pain in the ass. But at least I don't think I've blown my cover, yet. 

Last night, for the first time in a long time, I opened the old footlocker under my bed and took out one of my reserve IDs, 'cause I didn't want any record of "Father Kotomine" leaving Seyruun. Then I paid cash for a return ticket on the late train and headed north into Kalmaart. 

I hadn't left Seyruun in years. Funny, how that hit me as I was sitting there staring out the window at the night sky. The world I used to live in might have been as ugly as a vulture's ass, but at least it was big. No wonder I've been feeling cramped and restless lately. 

I got off the train in Vezendi at around midnight. Been years since I was there, either, and on my first visit I got to find my way through the streets in the dark. And hope the bastard hadn't moved. If he had, I'd've had to risk looking him up somehow. Everything these days leaves a fucking electronic trail. _Everything._ Drives me nuts. And makes me nostalgic for the days when you used to be able to find pay phones with actual paper phone books in them every few blocks, but those went out when I was still a kid, at least in "civilised" regions like this. 

It doesn't matter if you're part of a group that can at least spread the queries out—and if you've got some decent hackers, even better—but I haven't had that kind of backup in a long time, and I'm never quite sure what's traceable and what isn't. Probably changes from one day to the next. Fuck computers. 

I was lucky, though. Bastard was still where I'd left him. Maybe he was afraid to move. He did a perfect double-take when he opened the door and saw me, went from bitching about someone waking him up to flapping his mouth like a fish and going, "G-g-g-g-g!" Had to give him a push before he shut up and let me in. 

After that, it was easy. He was still working for the Baritone Consulate, in the little office they have in Vezendi 'cause the location lets them do a sort of Kalmaart-Dils-Ralteague-Seyruun four-for-one. He had all the official stamps and papers and accesses and shit in case some Baritonian lost his passport in west Kalmaart or some woman had to have an emergency C-section at the Vezendi hospital and wanted a cert for her baby. And he had some special authorizations that he was supposed to use to help Baritone citizens get across local borders in emergencies or replace critical embassy staff in a hurry, but that could be used to generate any kind of Seyruunese visa stamp or work permit. 

Good thing he'll never tell on me. Poor bastard was practically wetting his pants, and I didn't even have a knife on me, much less a gun. He hasn't forgotten how we met, that's for fucking sure. I wonder if he ever got the blood out of his tie . . . S'funny—knocking over people like those loan sharks that had him on a short string was one of the few things I did in my old job that could be considered worthwhile, but I get more gratitude by helping a little old lady carry her groceries home. Largest reward for the least risk . . . except that the rush from the fighting was a reward in and of itself, and I miss it. Since Val fell into my life, all fucked up and still ready for more, I've been realizing just how _much_ I miss it. 

Shit. I think . . . maybe it's time to at least _consider_ retiring Father Kotomine. Thing is, I'm not sure what I'd want to move on to. If I pick a job that lets me trip out on adrenaline the way I used to, my risk of being spotted goes way, _way_ up, but I'm tired of the constraints that go with behaving like a civilized man. And Val . . . what's he going to think when he finds out the me he thought he knew is someone I put together in a fucking ready-made hut on the edge of a drug field, drinking bad tequila and staring at a bloodstained passport that I'd taken off one of the corpses I'd just helped dump in a mass grave out back? 

I care about what he thinks of me. A lot. Scares me a bit. I mean, I've had the hots for guys before, dealt with stupid crushes and stuff, but never anything like _this_. Like I want him to think of me as a . . . a good person. Oh, fuck, is that ever a joke. But I don't want to scare him away. And I'm scared that that's exactly what I'd end up doing. That in his eyes, I'd be like the soldiers who destroyed his home, but worse, because there wasn't even a half-assed religious excuse for the stuff I did.


	7. Chapter 7

_Running, tripping, falling. Smell of blood and burning flesh. Where am I? Why am I here?_

_Familiar walls. My bedroom at home. Have the past five years been a nightmare?_

_"Val? Are you alright?" Mom's voice. It seems like forever since the last time I heard it . . ._

_"I'm f—" The words die in my throat as I turn and see her face, blackened, bloody, and rotting._

A beeping sound woke me before the scream building in my chest could rise to full pressure, and I gulped it back down again. _Ugh. Fuck, I hate it when that happens._ I had shitty nightmares like that a lot, bits of the half-remembered nightmare I'd lived mixing with the kinder past and tainting it all. It took me a moment to reorient myself, to remember that I was lying on the couch in the living room of the manse at the Lower Waterford Church, and another moment to figure out that what was beeping was the cell phone that Jillas and Gravos had given me for my birthday, a week ago. I hadn't given the number to anyone but them and Father Kotomine, but why would Jillas or Gravos be calling me in the middle of the night? 

"Hello?" 

"Uh, Boss? I . . . think we fucked up. Bad." Jillas' voice was soft and tense. 

I sat up, all grogginess instantly gone. "Define 'fucked up'." 

"Well, um . . . Gravos and I figured we could do a job without you. We picked the strip joint at the corner of Fifth and Elm . . ." 

"The Pretty Pussy? You idiots! That place is Syndicate-owned!" 

"Um, yeah, we, um, figured that out around the time the shooting started. Gravos got hit in the leg—I don't think it was bad, but I had to leave him. I'm hiding under a staircase in the basement, and I figure they'll find me soon. Um . . . help?" 

"You made yourselves a stupid-burger with idiot sauce on top and a side order of brainless and you expect me to _fix it_?" I snarled into the phone. "I should just leave you. I would, if you weren't practically the only friends I've got. Fuck. I'll think of something. If they catch you, don't fight them, got it? I don't need you getting shot up too." 

Jillas swallowed so hard that I heard it over the phone. "Right, Boss. And . . . I'm sorry." 

"When I get my hands on you, you're going to be sorrier," I warned him, and hung up. "Shit," I said to the silent phone, and blinked back the tear-itch that was starting in my eyes. They weren't dead yet, or at least Jillas wasn't. There had to be some way . . . the two of them were worthless to the Syndicate except as examples of what happened when you _crossed_ the Syndicate. 

I'd lost enough people already. I refused to lose anyone else. 

I was still staring at the phone, my eyes slightly out-of-focus. There was an icon that looked like a one-eyed fox head up in one corner of the screen. And I thought I recognized it, although it wasn't standard issue. Jillas had used it for his homemade hacking app. 

"'Just in case,'" I muttered, and tapped it. 

**_Scanning for networked systems..........found 2 secure, 3 unsecured._**

Five icons: two red locks, three green open doors. I tapped one at random. 

**_ProtectoCorp Security System. Alarm function, five cameras._** And five little video windows showing darkened rooms, some of them with machinery in them, plus a button to set off an alarm and one to disable the system. I thought I might be looking at the factory across the street from the church, which made sense. 

A red lock icon gave me some incomprehensible information on what kind of security that network was using and offered to try to break the encryption. 

I killed the app. If the Pretty Pussy had a networked security system, or even a fire alarm . . . I might be able to lure whatever muscle they had on hand away from Jillas and Gravos. It was a chance, anyway. 

I grabbed my clothes and pulled them on, then headed for the door. 

"Val?" 

_Oh, hell._

"Where are you going, this late at night?" Father Kotomine asked from the doorway that led to the bedrooms and the bath. 

"I . . . um . . ." I sounded like Jillas had on the phone, part of me realized. "To save a couple of lives, I hope." 

A pause. Then, "Brace yourself, I'm turning on the light." 

Father Kotomine's idea of dressed for bed seemed to be more like _un_ dressed. I think he might have had some boxers or something on under the robe, but I could see his bare calves below and a very nice slice of muscular chest where the robe didn't overlap properly . . . Sometimes my brain is really stupid about priorities. 

"Now," he said, crossing the floor in five long strides that put him right beside me, "what's going on? And tell me the truth, Val. If someone's life's at stake, there's no time for me to waste on strangling the truth out of you." 

"I don't think you can help with this." 

"Don't be so sure. I know people in some very odd places. _Tell me._ " 

I'd never heard him use that tone before—not so much angry as _firm_. So firm it didn't even occur to you to disobey it until after you'd started doing what he told you to. 

"Jillas and Gravos tried to burgle a building and got caught. I'm going to get them out of it." 

"Do you think you've got enough money to post bail? If not, I can—" 

"I didn't say they got caught by the _police_. I . . . they . . . You know the strip joint at the corner of Fifth and Elm?" 

"They tried to burgle a building owned by the _Ruby-Eye Syndicate_?" Father Kotomine's face . . . _twisted_ , that's the only way I can put it, and the tone of his voice changed, going hard and rough. " _Fuck._ I know Gravos has rocks between his ears, but Jillas didn't seem completely stupid. And you're going _after_ them?! Did you loan your fucking brain out too?!" He made a growling noise deep in his throat and punched the wall. His hand seemed to go right through it effortlessly. Then he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and took three slow, deep breaths. When he spoke again, he sounded more like he normally did . . . but I had the feeling that that was the mask, and his brief flare of temper had held more of the person he really was than I had ever seen before. "All right. All right. They're probably being questioned about who sent them, stuff like that. That means they're still alive. But if you were thinking about going in with all guns blazing and busting them out by beating up whatever Syndicate goons are keeping an eye on them, get that idea back out of your head right now, because if you try it, all three of you will end up dead. You're going up against hardened killers who won't hesitate to riddle you with bullets—your life and your friends' lives are worth exactly _nothing_ to them." 

I felt my face get hot. "So what do you _suggest_ I do, then?" 

"Negotiate. If you've got something to offer the Syndicate that's worth more than a couple of stupid punks' lives, maybe you'll be able to pry them loose. If not . . . then we have a problem." 

I thought quickly, then forced a smile and held up my phone. "Jillas included his handy-dandy idiot-proof hacking app. That might be worth something to them, I don't know." Not exactly what I'd been intending to use it for, but if it worked . . . 

"If it genuinely is idiot-proof, then they might just go for it. Pick ten criminals at random, and nine of them are going to be about as bright as your friend Gravos . . . and the higher-ups in the Syndicate know it." From the expression on his face, I thought he was arguing with himself about something. Then, "A few years ago, I helped a former Syndicate higher-up disappear. He gave me something that might help you, but you should only use it as a last resort, because if anyone at the Pretty Pussy has a functioning brain, they'll be able to tie it back to him—to a defector." 

"I'll take anything you have." _A gun would be nice._ Except that I'd never learned how to shoot. The movies made it look easy, but I knew they were full of crap. I felt really stupid now, for never getting my hands on a pistol and learning how to use it. 

The truth was, I'd never really _learned_ to fight at all. I was quick and smart and aggressive and I'd gotten away with a lot of stupid crap, but that wasn't going to be good enough here. 

It wouldn't have been good enough for my revenge, either. Why hadn't I ever thought ahead? 

"Wait here for a moment," Father Kotomine said, and returned to his bedroom. I heard a loud scraping noise, as though he'd dragged something across the floor, and then a hinge-creak and some muttering. I found myself staring at the spot where he'd punched the wall. He really had made a hole in it, a big one that let the edge of a stud show through. The unbelievable part wasn't that he'd made the hole, but that he hadn't even bloodied his knuckles doing it. He had to have hit it pretty hard, and his body had soaked it up like it was nothing. 

_I wish I'd had a chance to get to know you better._ I'd been watching him for weeks now, but I was sure I had barely scratched the surface. Jillas had been right: there was no way Father Kotomine was a simple priest. The truth was, embarrassingly enough, that his display of strength and temper had turned me on as much as it frightened me, despite the desperate situation. I grimaced and adjusted myself inside my jeans, knowing that my hard-on would subside soon enough. _I am such an idiot._

Father Kotomine re-emerged from the bedroom, carrying a small object I couldn't see clearly. "Put this around your neck." 

A plain metal chain, with a dangling rounded rectangle of milky crystal an inch long, half an inch wide, and a quarter-inch thick, engraved with a stylized eye and a number. I put it on and stuffed the pendant inside my shirt, then raised an eyebrow at the priest in what I hoped was an obvious question. 

"It's the Syndicate's equivalent of a dog tag, sort of," he obligingly explained. "You can't tell by looking at it, but there's an embedded microchip that can be read by a specialized scanner. That one . . . If they only scan it and don't check back with the main organization, it _should_ show that you're an independent deep-cover operative, which puts you higher up in the Syndicate than the local goons . . . or so I understand. They sell fakes as jewelry, so wearing one isn't an instant guarantee of membership or a shout-out to the police. And . . . Val?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Be careful. The three of you ending up imprisoned or dead doesn't help anyone, so you'd better come back alive, hear me?" 

One big hand came down on my head and ruffled my hair, and I flushed and jerked back. He was watching me with such intensity, and the expression on his face . . . he was beyond worried. Fighting with himself, I'd bet. Wanting to go with me, but there was some obstacle that he couldn't quite push himself past. 

"I won't promise," I said, meeting his eyes. "We both know that's crap—I'm not really in control here. But . . . I'll do my best. I can't just throw my life away when I've got something else even more important that I need to do." I hesitated, then added, "Here, take this." I slipped the medallion out from under my shirt and pulled the chain off over my head. Held it out to him. "It's the last thing I've got from . . . home. If it's possible at all, I'll come back for it." And I forced a crooked smile. 

The medallion looked tiny in Father Kotomine's hand as he slowly closed his fingers around it. "If you do manage to get yourself killed after all this, I'm going to give you the worst funeral of all time," he warned. 

The laughter that nearly came was hysterical, I could tell, so I forced it back down again. "I'll be back as soon as I can. I'd tell you not to wait up for me, but that would be crap too." 

And I headed for the door, suspecting that I'd soon wish that I'd been a little less . . . truthful. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I haven't lost my temper that badly since . . . well, I guess it was a couple of days after the bit with the mass grave, the bloody passport, and the bottle of bad tequila. I'm drinking equally bad vodka now. Or maybe it's good vodka—stuff's so fucking tasteless I'm not sure how you'd tell the difference. I bought it cheap just in case I ever needed something to steady my nerves, and fuck, do I need it now. 

That little medallion of his is sitting in front of me on the table. Thanks to all the theology crap I've studied over the past few years, I recognize what the pattern on it's supposed to be even though it's too small for much detail: the Old Rite symbols for Ceiphied and the other Dragon Gods. 

If that ends up being all I have left of him, I don't know what the fuck I'll do. The thought of losing him hurts in a way I'm not used to. I've lost dozens of friends and the odd lover and I never felt this way over any of them and I can't figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. 

I keep on telling myself I was right not to give him a gun. It isn't like it would have been hard—they were right under the tray with the dog-tags, all packed away for storage: my well-worn .44, the fancy plastic-and-ceramic 9mm with the caseless cartridges that no metal detector can pick up, and a .50 Desert Eagle I used to use for . . . special circumstances. I could have given him any of them. But if he went in there carrying, that would instantly make him that much more of a threat. That much more of a target. A gun isn't much of a deterrent against that bunch, and I doubt he knows how to shoot. This way, he's got a chance of coming out alive. 

Maybe if I repeat that often enough, I'll start to believe it. 

I could have gone with him, I know. I would have had the crew at the Pretty Pussy pissing their pants as soon as they figured out who I was . . . but I would have lost Kotomine Kirei for good, and possibly Val's trust along with him. This way there's a chance, a _slim_ chance, that I can get out of this with all the pieces that I care about still in my hands. It all depends on how well Val performs, and how lucky he is. 

Fuck. I'm at the bottom of the bottle now, and I still don't feel fucking _steady_ , at all. 

It's all in the hands of fucking Ceiphied. 

Maybe a real priest would find that reassuring.


	8. Chapter 8

The Pretty Pussy was all neon. The tubes picked out a white cat, a garish pink pair of breasts, and the name of the place in yellow. It was also open for business. Jillas had tried to burgle it while it was full of people. 

I wrinkled my nose and climbed the steps to the front door. _Damn Jillas for putting me in the position of having to visit a place like this!_

I was just setting my foot on the top step when one of the big guys in dark suits who had been loitering on either side of the door grabbed my arm. I hadn't been paying attention to them up until then because they didn't really scare me all that much. I mean, Father Kotomine was a head taller and a good fifty pounds heavier than either of them. 

"We don't allow your kind in here. Mr. Dilgear says it lowers the tone of the place." 

I rolled my eyes. "Look, I don't really _want_ to go inside, but . . . there's this little guy with red hair, and a big guy with a shaved head, not too bright . . . They thought they could do a job by themselves. Stupid fuckers. They didn't even check to see who owned the building. You know who I'm talking about, right?" 

The two goons exchanged looks. "Let me call upstairs," said the one who wasn't holding my arm. 

I smirked. "Take all the time you need." 

I did my best to look nonchalant while the big guy talked to someone on his cell, but the way the other one was holding my arm made it difficult. I could tell where the bruises were going to be, how they'd pattern with the scars I already had. At least these would heal without a trace, if I was still alive a week from now. 

I felt the tiniest breath of temptation telling me to take out the crystal pendant Father Kotomine had given me, but I squished it back down again. _Only as a last resort,_ he'd said. And I believed him. 

The goon took his time, on purpose I think. It was a good five minutes before he hung up. "Boss wants to see him," he said to the goon stuck to my arm. "I'll take him up." 

"Right." And the other goon finally let me go. I forced my hands to my sides to keep from rubbing my arm. Even if I was black and blue, showing them that they'd hurt me would just encourage them. 

Phone-goon led me inside, then to the left through an "employees only" door and up two flights of a narrow staircase with crappy lighting. Again, I curbed my nervousness, knowing that checking for bullet holes in the walls wouldn't help matters. 

The third floor had a nice deep carpet in the hallway, sort of a rusty-red colour. I couldn't help wondering if that was to hide the blood. There were a couple of pictures of nude women on the walls—the kind that get called "artistic" rather than "pornographic", but you could tell that the intent was just to look a little more upscale while staying . . . close to the business' roots. 

I was marched past a couple of offices and some kind of employee lounge to a closed door at the very back. The goon knocked on it. 

"Who is it?" I disliked the voice on the other side from the moment I heard it. 

"Noonsa, Mr. Dilgear. I brought that guy I told you about . . ." 

"Fine, fine. Bring the stupid bastard in." 

Well, that was just great: I hadn't even _met_ this guy yet, and he already thought I was an idiot. There was no time to worry about it, though. From the moment that door opened, I had to be ready to put on a show. 

Noonsa opened the door, and I swaggered in with my hands casually stuffed in my pockets, trying to look like a badass instead of a too-skinny freelancer who had spent the last few weeks living at a church and dreaming of going straight. I ignored the half-dozen Syndicate types scattered around the room and went straight to the corner where they'd parked Jillas and Gravos. The latter had a bloodstained red bandana wrapped around his thigh, and looked up at me as I crossed the floor, so he hadn't been too badly hurt. Jillas actually looked like he was worse off—someone had worked him over but good, and his face was purple and swollen to the point where I doubt his own mother would have recognized him. 

I walked over and kicked him in the leg, hoping I didn't hit any bruises. Hoping he would play along. "You fucking idiot. What have I told you about setting up jobs without my permission? Huh?" 

"Not to do it, Boss," Jillas croaked. He also winked, or I thought he did. With his face that swollen, it was difficult to tell. 

"So why the fuck did you?" 

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," the little man said, and Gravos nodded along. "We're really short this month, and you . . . weren't interested. Boss." 

"Short," I said, and kicked him again. "I don't care if you can't pay the rent on that roach-infested hole you call an apartment! Knocking over the wrong place is pretty close to suicide, and you didn't even take the time to check whose place this was, did you? Fucking morons. Any reason I shouldn't just leave you for Mr. Dilgear? I'm sure he's got an _efficient_ way of dealing with the dead bodies of useless losers like you." 

"You need us," Jillas slurred. And elbowed Gravos in the ribs when it seemed like the big guy was about to say something. "We're the only followers you've got." 

I scowled and turned to face the Syndicate types who'd been watching this little playlet. I picked out "Mr. Dilgear" right away—he had to be the grey-haired man with the gold cufflinks and the snaggly tooth who was grinning at us. I faced him squarely as I hoisted my shoulders in a shrug. 

"So you see, I'm kind of stuck with them," I said. "I know you can't just let them get off scot-free, but maybe we can come to some kind of agreement." 

Dilgear's smile wasn't very nice at all, even if you ignored the snaggly tooth. "So what did you have in mind?" 

I didn't want to offer the app straight out. For one thing, I was pretty sure Jillas would kill me, and for another, if I played my best card right away, they might think I was desperate. Well, I was, but I couldn't let them know that. 

"Well, I figure that a fine, upstanding gentleman like yourself—" Noonsa, the phone-toting goon with the protruding eyes, snickered. "—must need some work done off the record from time to time. Quietly and untraceably, like." 

Noonsa laughed outright. I turned my scowl on him. "I didn't think it was that funny." 

"The 'quiet and untraceable' stuff is done by another arm of our organization," Dilgear said with a predatory grin. "And if you think I'm going to set up a three-way negotiation with them over a couple of incompetent half-assed burglars, you've got another think coming. I only held on to the other two this long to see if I could catch some bigger fish with them, but it looks like you're the biggest thing that's going to come to that bait, and you're barely a minnow. Noonsa, kill all three of them and—" 

" _Wait_ ," I snapped, trying to sound firm. Like someone with a higher rank in the Syndicate. I knew it was my only chance now, even though I could feel the fear-sweat running down my back. "I didn't want to do this—I thought we could discuss it like _civilized_ people and I wouldn't have to blow my cover in front of my idiot henchmen, but you're not giving me much of a choice, are you?" And I pulled out the crystal pendant and let it dangle against the outside of my jacket. 

Dilgear laughed. "You're claiming to be one of us?" 

Noonsa leaned close without prompting for a better look at the damned thing. His breath stank of fish. "Looks like it might be authentic, Mr. Dilgear." 

"Fine, then, get a scanner," Dilgear said. "If that's all right with you, of course, Mr. . . . ?" 

"Val. You don't need more than that. And I'd be more pissed off if someone tricked you with a piece of cheap plastic. Makes us all look bad." 

Dilgear snorted, but he also looked genuinely amused. "If you're a fake, you're got the biggest balls of any fake I've ever run across, I'll give you that, Mr. Val." 

I inclined my head, while inside, I was reciting every four-letter word I knew like a mantra. Everything now depended on Father Kotomine's gift. If the Syndicate defector he'd gotten it from had been lying, or if they tied it back to him, I was beyond toast. 

The thing Noonsa brought in looked like one of those remote credit-card terminals you see in restaurants. It even had those stupid pictograph instructions on it. Simple enough that Gravos could have operated it. Simple enough that I had no trouble figuring out where they wanted me to put the slab-pendant in, or what direction it was supposed to point in. 

I took the chain off, slid the thing into the slot, and then pressed the big green "Verify" button myself, because I knew it would look better than having Noonsa do it. _Ceiphied . . . please . . ._

I should have known better than to expect a god would listen to someone like me. 

The scanner beeped softly, and words popped up on the screen: 

**_ID #37495_**

 ** _Class 5 independent operative_**

**_Needs to report to headquarters on Wolf Pack Island for debriefing. Encourage if necessary._**

**_No further information at this authorization level._**

"Mr. Dilgear . . ." Noonsa offered him the scanner, and there was nothing I could fucking well do about it. The goons had spread out while I'd been intent on other stuff. Two at the door. Two at the window. Guns out, pointing at the floor, but I didn't doubt they could shoot me faster than I could close the distance to any of them. Dilgear and Noonsa were too far away to grab, and I doubted I was strong enough to force either of them to act as my meatshield. Jillas, maybe, but the thought was sickening. 

Dilgear was still grinning nastily. "So you're overdue to report in, are you, Mr. Val? I thought there was something fishy about this." 

I forced a martyred sigh and rolled my eyes. "My job doesn't always allow me to drop everything just so that someone can yell at me in person. For some reason, the people in charge seem to find it offensive that I prioritize getting things done over their whims. Just let the idiot brigade there—" I waved my hand in the direction of Jillas and Gravos. "—go, and I'll go report in like a good little boy." 

"Well, now. I could do that, but it says 'encourage'. Without limits. My bet is, you tried this before and pulled a disappearing act on whoever was sent to fetch you. I really rather not pick a fight with a Class Five—I'm only a Three myself, as you might have guessed—but if the upper management finds out I had you and then let you get away again . . ." 

_Shit._ "All right, all right, already. I still need you to let those two go—I've got things on the go that can't just be dropped without notice. With a little luck, they can hold it all together until I get back." That would mean the main mission was accomplished, anyway, and Gravos and Jillas were clear. Then I could start worrying about myself. "And I need to talk to them privately for a moment, or at least the red-head." 

"Why?" 

"Isn't it obvious? They can barely find their asses with both hands, either of them. I need to tell them exactly where to go, who to talk to, and what to say." I was getting more and more worried that I was going to run out of improvised bullshit to feed this man. It was a good thing he wasn't all that bright. "The little guy has a bit more brains, usually." 

Dilgear hesitated, then shrugged. "Noonsa will take you to my assistant's office. It doesn't have a window. We'll keep the big guy here for now. And don't get any bright ideas. Even if you manage to get his gun away from him, Noonsa is a master of sakana-jutsu. He'll slap you silly." 

_Oookay, whatever._ "I told you already that I was going to behave. I'll deal with you _after_ my boss is done yelling at me." 

Noonsa grabbed my arm with one hand and Jillas' with the other and hustled us back along the hall to an office barely big enough to hold a desk and a couple of chairs. As Dilgear has said, there was no window. 

"I'll wait outside," Noonsa said with a disturbing fake smile—what was it with the way these guys all smiled, anyway? 

"If I find you with your ear to the door, I'll kick your ass into next week," I warned him, but he was already closing the damned thing. 

"Boss . . ." Jillas said. 

"Careful. It was the best I could do, but there still might be a bug in here or something," I said. And no vents or anything—wasn't that what we'd find if this had been a movie or a game? "Listen to me. The moment they turn you loose, go to Father Kotomine. Tell him what happened. I don't know if he can do anything to help, but I also don't know anyone else who would have any chance at all." 

"Does he know? That you, um . . ." 

"Came here after you? He's the one who gave me that Syndicate ID thing in the first place—got it off someone he helped go straight. When they find out I'm not who they think I am, I'm probably in for a world of trouble, but I'm hoping they'll keep me alive a bit longer to find out where I got it. I'll hold out for as long as I can." 

Jillas sniffled. "Boss—" He looked like he was going to cry. 

"If you're sorry about getting me into this crap, then don't screw up this time," I told him. "And don't do something stupid like trying to blow up the building, either. It won't help." Usually, I tried very hard not to remember Jillas' experiments with homemade explosives, which were often a little too successful. 

"Right." 

"Time's up," Noonsa said, and opened the door. 

I shrugged. "I was finished, anyway." 

I didn't fight when they cuffed me to Noonsa, even though I could feel my chances at freedom draining away, because they didn't let Jillas and Gravos go until after they'd done it. I didn't fight when they hustled me into a black sedan by the pink light of dawn and hauled me off to the airport, either, because I couldn't see how to get out of the cuffs. 

I did fight when Dilgear came at me with a needle full of cloudy yellowish crap, but by then it was too late, and they had no problem pinning me down. 

I was semiconscious when they hauled me, stumbling, onto a private jet and strapped me into a seat, with Noonsa right beside me. Not wanting to look at him, I stared out the window instead, seeing a bank of blank grey cloud, but picturing a face in my mind's eye. Strong and masculine, with blood red hair and blue eyes and a warped, nasty grin. 

_I'm betting everything on you. Please . . . help me . . ._

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I knew something had gone wrong even before the two idiots came stumbling to my door, just as the streetlights were starting to flicker out again. Came stumbling to my door _without Val_. By then, my sixth sense, or whatever you want to call it, had already been nagging at me for an hour. I cursed myself for not giving in to it . . . and really, that caught me up short. I was willing to charge in there like a fucking action movie hero for that scrawny kid? I knew then that there was more going on there than an appreciation of his ass, but I didn't have time to think about it. 

I patched up Gravos' leg—he was lucky, the bullet had gone right through the meat without hitting the bone or an artery—while I listened to that useless idiot Jillas tell me what had happened. By the end of it, I was ready to throw them both out on their ears, even though I knew the end result hadn't really been their fault. Mine, really. All mine. The ID tag I'd given Val had been one of a dozen I'd taken with me when I'd left, and they had to have put that information in the system. 

They're going to question him to find out where I am. I figure I've got maybe half a day to clean up the loose ends of Father Kotomine's life before I have to get the hell out of here. 

. . . This isn't how I expected to end up moving forward. Or maybe it's back. 

I'm planning to stroll back into the dragon's den with an "Eat Me!" sign stuck to my coat, all because of the golden fire in a young man's eyes. I must be crazy. Or in love. 

Fuck. I think maybe . . . 

Fuck. 

Why the fuck am I sitting here scribbling in this thing, anyway? I need to go get dressed, clean my guns. There isn't really any packing to do, thankfully. I've already made the phone call to the High Temple in Sellentia. They freaked out when they heard I was pulling out of here with only a few hours' notice, but seems like some guy in the office volunteered to get his ass down here right away and take over. He should be here by noon. 

Clothes. Guns. My real passport, driver's and pilot's licenses, and gun permits, that I've been renewing through a double-blind drop, just in case. Well, "real" inasmuch as anything about Gaav Magnus is real. In a lot of ways, the old me was as much of a fucking construct as Father Kotomine ever was. 

. . . I don't think I want to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sakana" is Japanese for "fish". So Noonsa is a master of fish-fighting. Which I can't help picturing as being something like Monty Python's Fish-Slapping Dance.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing I did when I came to was throw up on a goon's feet, or try to. I didn't have much freedom of movement, or anything much to throw up. I definitely felt like crap, though, and I didn't remember them hauling me off the plane . . . but you didn't get rooms this big on aircraft. There was just no way. 

It was a conference room, and it was _huge_. The polished wooden table, shaped like a squared-off U, could probably seat fifty around the outer edge alone. 

Right now, there were only six, all well-dressed. Two women, three men, and . . . a kid who looked about ten. What the hell was that about? The women . . . I think they were both pretty, although it was difficult for me to tell. Not very old, either—I'd have guessed about thirty for the blonde and twenty-five for the bluenette. The youngest man might have been twenty-five, too. Handsome, until you noticed his pinched, dissatisfied mouth. One of the older men, the one at the center of the group, looked like the young one, with black hair and intense eyes. The other . . . was Rezo the Red Priest. 

I blinked and looked again to make sure I wasn't seeing things. No, if it wasn't Rezo, this guy was his twin brother, and he'd stolen a set of his robes. There was another woman standing behind him, wearing what looked like a lesser priestess' robe. And there were some goons scattered around the room. 

There was a thick carpet on the floor, and the far wall was mostly window. The one on my left was the biggest damned TV screen I'd ever seen. Outside the window, I could see a grey day and the tops of a few buildings—we were pretty high up, and there were no landmarks I recognized. It didn't help that I was strapped to a chair positioned dead center between the ends of the U, with everyone watching me. It made it kind of difficult to get a good look at whatever city this was. 

"So you're finally awake," said the older man whose name I didn't know. "It took you long enough." 

"Sorry," I said acidically. "Someone must have missed telling me we were supposed to have a meeting." 

"This won't take long. I only want the answer to one question from you." 

I raised my eyebrows. The sharp tongue I'd picked up in my years on the streets had suddenly deserted me, and I had no idea what to say to this man. I doubted there was a single fucking thing I could do that would shut this down, anyway, so it was probably better not to say anything. 

"Where is my son?" the handsome, middle-aged man with the black hair asked me. 

I shrugged. "How would I know?" 

"Don't give me that, you gutter trash. Gaav took a dozen Syndicate identification tablets—other than his own—with him when he . . . left. Including the one you were waving in the face of a very minor functionary last night. Where did you get it?" 

"Not from anyone named Gaav." _Say as little as possible,_ I told myself. _Just like what you'd do if the cops hauled you in._

The blonde woman smiled at me. "He might not have been using his real name. None of us look at all alike—we have different mothers, and only Dynast takes after Father very much. Gaav is very tall—about seven and a half feet—and muscular, with red hair. He used to wear it long. He also has a very deep voice, a warped sense of humour, and a fondness for dark beer and handsome young men like you. Does that ring any bells?" 

It did. Of course it did. But if I said so . . . 

"He seems to be immune to your wiles, dear Zelas," the young man said, with a smirk. 

Zelas, if that was her name, laughed. "Well of course, dear. He isn't interested right now. You wouldn't be either, if you were strapped to a chair and still half-full of that horrible tranquilizer." 

_Not interested ever, bitch._

"If not from Gaav, then where did you get this?" That was the other woman, dangling a bit of crystal from her fingers. 

What was the least amount of information I could give them, be absolutely truthful so that my body language looked right, _and_ be utterly misleading? "From a priest." 

The older man's eyebrows rose, and he turned to his right. "Sounds like it may be time for a little housekeeping, Rezo." 

Rezo offered him a mild smile. "I doubt it was anyone directly under my authority—even if we assume this priest was in Seyruun, there are a dozen Reform and three Old Rite churches in the city in addition to the High Temple. But I will make enquiries." 

"I need more than enquiries—" 

Rezo held up his hand. "Lei. I am aware of the urgency you attach to Gaav's return, but surely if he hasn't given away any of your secrets in the better part of a decade, a few more days won't matter. I will find this priest for you. I take it that the priest himself can't have been Gaav." 

It hadn't really been a question, so I said nothing. The man Rezo had addressed as "Lei" gestured, and one of the goons walked over and slapped me. 

"You will answer anything that remotely resembles a question directed at you as quickly and completely as you can—do you understand, gutter trash?" 

I'd done pain before, at levels "Lei" couldn't possibly understand. Physical pain. emotional pain, pain of the soul. I'd done helplessness, too. A little slap wasn't going to cow me. 

"My name is Val," I said. "Or did Dilgear forget to pass that on?" 

Zelas chuckled, her voice low and warm. 

Lei waved his hand dismissively. "I'm sure it was in his report." 

"But you didn't consider it worth remembering." Maybe if I was enough of a smartass, I could piss him off enough that he'd forget what he wanted me to tell him. 

But it was the kid who hopped down from his too-high chair and padded across the floor toward me. Or was he a kid? His eyes, pale green, looked . . . wrong. 

"If you're trying to manipulate us, you're going about it the wrong way, you know," he said in a tone much too old for his appearance. "We're not stupid. We can't afford to be. Do you have any idea where you are? Or who we are?" 

I used the all-purpose shrug again. It was one of the few gestures I could make. "Dilgear said he was taking me to Wolf Pack Island, so I assume that's where I am. You're obviously higher in the Syndicate than he is, at or near the top." 

The kid laughed. "You're not completely stupid, I guess. Surprising, if you were working with Gaav. Or were you the brains of the operation? Don't bother answering that. Yes, this is Wolf Pack Island, and we are the leadership of the Ruby-Eye Syndicate. I'm Phibrizzo Magnus, Director of Research." 

"You look a bit young to be a director of anything," I said. 

"Let's just say that it turned out that giving that particular drug to a subject that hadn't reached puberty yet was a really bad idea. But enough about me. Let's talk about you." The little bastard poked me in the chest with his finger, hard, and I obviously couldn't dodge. "Do you know where you're going to end up if you don't give us the answers we want?" 

"Dead, or wishing I was, I expect. But I don't have any reason to believe that answering's going to land me anywhere better. Assuming that I knew anything of use to you in the first place." 

Phibrizzo cocked his head to one side. "That's true, I suppose. Hmmm. How's this: if we find Gaav, we'll let you go. Even take you back to Seyruun, if you like." 

"I told you, I don't know where he is." 

"Then who was the priest who gave you the ID?" 

"An old man named Father Winterbourne. Skinny, stooped, with thinning white hair. I never learned his first name. It might have started with an S." I rattled off the name and description of the village priest from my childhood, and hoped that I sounded convincing. 

"Rezo?" Lei prompted. 

"Not one of ours. I fear he must be of the Old Rite. Not that I would expect this young man to know the difference." 

Now there was a non-question I _could_ answer, and maybe even draw him into wasting some time on. "The Reform church believes that Ceiphied is the supreme being who reigns over all and has no equals. Thus, according to you, any misfortune people suffer must result either from going against Ceiphied's plan or from Ceiphied needing to temper his followers with suffering. The Old Rite believes that Ceiphied and Shabranigdo are equally matched, and some of our misfortunes flow from that opposition. That's the big difference. Most of the others are details of ritual and observance." 

Rezo's eyebrows rose. "Indeed. Someone has taught you well. To what purpose, I wonder?" 

I shrugged. "My parents thought it was important." 

"And you?" 

"I don't really share their beliefs. But I'd say the Old Rite is kinder." 

"In what way?" 

I smiled crookedly. "Old Rite allows for a Ceiphied who is purely benevolent _and_ understandable by you or me. The Reform version of Ceiphied is either incomprehensible or hates humans. Or both. I know I'd prefer to believe in a god I can tell is at least trying to help over one who dumps crap on me for no reason I can understand. Old Rite allows for greater free will, because Ceiphied's plans and motivations aren't obscured, and I can choose whether to go along or ignore them. Reform theology turns us into rats in a maze of mirrors." One part remembered lessons from childhood religion classes, one part thoughts I'd been having lately due to the whole living-at-a-church thing, and one part bullshit I made up on the spot. Although even I wasn't completely sure which bits were which. It didn't matter, anyway. I was just trying to draw this out without giving anything away. 

"So you prefer the Old Rite because it appeals to your reason . . . but religion is not intended to be a matter of reason, young Val. Religion is about faith. If you believe in Ceiphied, all else follows." 

I lifted an eyebrow. "Let's say that Ceiphied was just some ordinary person that you met walking down the street one day. If you saw him doing random, often destructive stuff, like, oh, I don't know, painting the windows of a shop blue or tripping a little kid in the middle of the sidewalk, and he couldn't or wouldn't tell you why he was doing it, _and_ you never saw any results but a pissed-off shopkeeper and a crying kid, would that inspire you to believe in this guy? I know I'd be trying to get him put away, not following him around holding the paint can." 

Rezo actually laughed . . . well, chuckled, anyway. "So the Flare Dragon's actions do not inspire belief? You have a fascinating mind, young Val." 

Lei sighed gustily. "Rezo, I know this kind of thing amuses you, but it's just a waste of time for the rest of us. Either the gutter trash is lying, or he honestly doesn't know anything. We should decide on his disposal and then move on to more important matters." 

Disposal. I didn't like the sound of that. 

"No torture?" The young man sounded kind of disappointed. 

Zelas sighed and rolled her eyes. "Little brother, didn't they teach you _anything_ at that fancy boy's school they sent you to? Torture only makes the subject tell you what he thinks you want to hear. Which is generally not the truth." 

"I'll take him," Phibrizzo said. "I've got a lot of experimental trials backed up, waiting for a human subject. We still haven't been able to replicate what was done to Gaav on an adult, or without the diminished intelligence. And it's difficult to give useful intelligence tests to mice." 

"He's all yours," Lei said, and I went cold all over. My eyes darted around the room in search of help. Zelas was the only person willing to meet my gaze, and she gave me a sad look and shook her head slightly. I couldn't even tell whether she actually gave a damn or was just playing with me. 

Phibrizzo stuck me with another needle before they let me loose from the chair. I still tried to fight, but there was no strength left in my limbs. I did succeed in forcing two of the goons to drag me along while their boss opened doors and operated the elevator, but it was a pretty hollow victory. All I really got out of it was bruises and a bit of rug burn. 

They dumped me on the floor of a very white room. 

"Strip him," Phibrizzo ordered. 

One of the goons pulled out a knife and slit my shirt from collar to hem, then cut open the tops of the sleeves. I wasn't sure what had happened to my jacket—I hadn't been wearing it when I'd woken in the conference room. It was when the man was in the process of straightening up again that I moved. He wasn't holding the knife very tightly, and I tore it from his hand, raking it up the underside of his arm. 

"Bastard!" the goon snarled. I was already lunging for his boss. Phibrizzo was even smaller than Jillas. Even in my half-drugged state, I should be able to use him as a meat-shield, drag him along with the knife to his throat until I was out of the building. I'd worry about where Wolf Pack Island was and how to get off it after the drugs wore off. 

I swear I had the edge of the knife touching the little monster's neck when I felt a sudden agony and my entire body locked up. I fell helplessly to the floor, not understanding what had happened until Phibrizzo moved into my field of vision and showed me a rectangular black object that looked almost like an electric shaver. He thumbed a switch, and lightning crackled between two short metal bits sticking out of the end. The little bastard had hit me with a fucking stun gun. 

"Surely you didn't think I'd participate in moving dangerous livestock without taking _precautions_ ," Phibrizzo said, his expression one of unholy glee. All I could do was lie there and twitch. And hate. I was good at hating. I'd had a lot of practice. "I'd consider having you castrated to make you more docile—" My eyes widened as my balls did their best to creep up into my body cavity between twitches. "—but the value of my research would be sadly reduced if my subject's hormone levels weren't normal, so we'll leave that for the time being, along with exploring those interesting scars of yours. Nighty-night, Val. Pleasant dreams!" 

This time, he let me watch, or more like _made_ me watch, as he shoved his little toy against my chest. If I hadn't deliberately closed my eyes, the last thing I saw before I blacked out would have been his mocking grin. 

_Father Kotomine, Gaav, whoever you are,_ I thought as the darkness took me. _I take it all back. Stay away from here. Stay safe._ _Don't waste your life saving mine._

_I'm not worth it._

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

. . . nothing I can do until the plane lands except sit here, so I might as well do a bit more scribbling. Besides, I want to get some of this down before . . . future events . . . push it out of my head. 

It's the priest from Sellentia, mainly. Father Kotomine's replacement, who showed up while I was waiting for my taxi to the airport. He looked like nothing much. Skinny. Dark-haired with a bit of grey. Clerical collar, so I knew right away who he was. Glasses. But the eyes behind them were . . . I don't know. There was something there. It looked . . . like sunlight. 

"My name is Kereth Rolencio. Are you Father Kirei Kotomine?" Even his voice was soft. Gentle. And a bit confused, but I didn't blame him. I was wearing my old clothes, charcoal grey blazer and off-white shirt, open at the collar, with my Syndicate ID hanging down outside and visible. The blazer was tailored to hide the double shoulder holster and the two hand-cannons it held, and I doubt he would have known how to spot the 9mm in its ankle holster, but I'm sure I still looked like a thug. And I had a military footlocker resting on the steps beside me, rather than a more normal bag like the one slung over his shoulder. 

I was leaving for the last time, and I knew I could never use Kotomine's ID again, so I figured it was time to clear things up. "Yes and no." 

Father Rolencio's eyebrows rose. "I'm sorry. I don't understand." 

"It was intentionally opaque," I told him. "I'm the person who's been using that name and running this church for the past several years, but the real Kirei Kotomine is buried in a mass grave in the jungle, about two hundred miles south-westish of Lacana City. He tried to intervene in a drug war and got himself shot, and I stole his passport and doctored it for my use. Before you ask, I'm not going to give you my real name. You're better off not knowing. But since I'm not really an ordained priest, you might want to redo the ceremonies I officiated at, just to make sure everything's squared away in the eyes of Ceiphied." 

"You . . ." Father Rolencio blinked several times, then shook his head. "Although the Church does not publicize it, there is no innate requirement that most of our ceremonies be performed by a priest, although it is preferred. Marriage is an exception, and I will re-enact it for any couple requiring peace of mind in that regard. I doubt you performed any ordinations, so that isn't a concern. May I ask, why break your silence now?" 

"Two reasons. One is that the assholes I was trying to escape have probably just found out where I was hiding all these years. If anyone shows up here asking questions about me, answer them truthfully and they'll probably leave without doing anything unpleasant. Hiding what little you know would be of no benefit to me at this point in any case. Also, I took a young man into my care, and inadvertently endangered his life. So now I'm going to save him, if I can." I paused a half-beat and added, "I'm sorry you've gotten mixed up in this, even at the edges. I was expecting the Church hierarchy to move with its usual fucking glacial speed. I never thought they'd send a replacement within hours." 

Father Rolencio just kind of stood there for a while, adjusting his glasses. Then, "I forgive you. More, I _absolve_ you. Of deception, of endangerment, and of malicide—no, you didn't speak the words, but I am certain you were involved in the real Father Kotomine's death somehow. Your penance . . . is to rescue that young man you spoke of, assuming that is possible." He made the sign of Ceiphied in the air, like we were inside a fucking confessional. 

"Ironically, I'm not a believer. And I don't know if it was my side that shot Father Kotomine or not. You never know, when you're stumbling around in the fucking jungle. You just shoot at anything that moves and that isn't where your guys are supposed to be. Then you clean up afterwards." 

The fucking priest was still staring at me. "There is a great deal of darkness in you, and yet . . . I think there is also light. The Church has received no complaints from the Lower Waterford congregation since you took over here, and they complained frequently and vocally about your predecessor. I will pray for you." And then he made a little bow just as my taxi pulled up. 

I still don't know what to think of him. Those eyes . . . I don't believe for a moment that he was really touched by the Flare Dragon, or that there _is_ a Flare Dragon to touch him with grace in the first place, but I think he believed. Deeply, purely, and completely. And I think he was a genuinely good person—one of the very few that I've ever met. Makes me feel . . . not inadequate, I don't think, but fucking weird. 

And why am I even worrying about this shit, considering what's coming? 

They know I'm on my way. I considered several ways of handling my travel arrangements, from just taking a commercial flight to renting a plane and flying it myself, but in the end I went to the Blast Wave Avionics hanger and flashed my Syndicate ID, just like the old days. The chance to find out what my current status was before I got to Wolf Pack was too attractive to pass up. 

What I _didn't_ expect was for no one to bat an eyelash at the prodigal son turning up, but that's exactly what happened. Even my apartment hasn't been touched, judging from what I've found in the system. Zelas' influence, maybe. I hope so. I could use an ally. If not her, hopefully Dolly. If it's Dad, I'm in for a real mountain of shit. And if it comes down to a choice between not bending over for him again, and being able to get Val out of there . . . No, who am I kidding. I'll pick Val. I'm wearing his medallion, inside my shirt where no one can see it. Against my skin. And whenever I let my mind drift, I see golden eyes, and hear him saying, _I'll be back as soon as I can,_ trying and miserably failing to sound casual. 

When I get him back, I'm going to train him to protect himself. It's the only way I can be sure he'll be safe in the long run. Teach him to shoot, to fight hand-to-hand. Teach him tactics, strategy, politics—quietly, when no one else is watching, so that my family doesn't notice that I'm really not such a dim bulb after all. At least I won't have to teach him survival. He knows that already. 

I wish I had something better to offer him. Shooting lessons don't strike me as much of a courtship gift. But I can't not . . . I'm fucking obsessed, that's what I am. I want him so badly it feels like I've got a permanent boner, and I'm terrified that he's going to tell me no. The last time I was fucking _terrified_ of something, I was four years old and thought there were monsters hiding under my bed. But this really is on the same level as that, to the point I think I might do something really stupid if he turns me down. Hopefully, if he isn't gay, he's at least . . . curious. 

Why him? Why _now_? 

I don't fucking know. I don't know, and it's driving me insane!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow the last couple of chapters of this got messed up, so I ended up deleting and re-posting this one. Ugh.
> 
> Kereth Rolencio is a canon character from the next to last Slayers novel, _Hatred in Sellentia_. There aren't all that many priests or priestesses who are major Slayers characters and don't turn out to be corrupt; most of the ones who appear in the anime have other roles in this story, and Sylphiel didn't feel appropriate here.


	10. Chapter 10

Hell is a small, white room in a skyscraper on Wolf Pack Island. 

That passed through my mind a couple of times. When I was in any condition to think at all. The rest of the time, the world was full of pain, and nothing else. It felt like my bones were being ripped out. 

"—unsedated?" 

"—more effective this way—" I didn't catch enough of the conversation for it to make sense, but the second voice, childish-sounding, was familiar, and I snarled at it, past the strap someone had stuffed in my mouth, and yanked at the other straps, the ones circling my arms, legs, waist, and chest, binding me to a narrow bed. 

When I tried to look around, I saw white, white, white, and . . . purple. I squinted. An IV bag, loaded with who the hell knew what, and I would have bet that the business end of the tube was stuck in my arm. Then came a fresh surge of pain, and my vision blurred again. 

"—out of this sane?" 

Laughter, high-pitched. "Oh, he will. He's a tough one. Bone-headed, just like his boss." 

Dimmed lights. Night cycle? And then back to day again. Someone encouraging me to piss, and then poking me so that my bladder let go anyway when I didn't. I was never quite asleep and never quite awake, awash in pain. 

I just wanted to die. Then it might not hurt anymore. 

Footsteps. Loud, echoing. I started to sink back down into the dark again, but the sound of a voice galvanized me and, for the first time, made me fight to stay on the surface. 

"—know he's here, Phibby, you little shit, so take me to him, or I'll start busting the place up until I find him!" Deep, rough voice. More footfalls. 

Lighter voice answering, too soft for me to make out. Then a loud sound like, "Mmph!" 

"I don't have any reason _not_ to blow your fucking brains out," the deep voice growled. "Even Dad thinks you're starting to be a bit too much of a loose cannon. Just a little more, and taking you out'll probably become my fucking job. Now. Val. Where?" 

Door opening. Footsteps again, approaching my bed. Shadow looming over me. I blinked, trying to focus. 

Red hair. Blue eyes, narrowing now. Strong nose and chin. Mobile mouth, scowling. Wrong clothes, but it was _him_. I tried to say his name, but all that came out was a garbled croak. Oh, right. Strap. In my mouth. To keep me from biting my tongue, or just to shut me up, or both. 

"Shit," he muttered. "You're awake?" 

I did my best to nod. 

"Just sit tight for a bit. I'm getting you out of here. You," he added, half-turning to address someone out of my line of sight. "Get the IV out of him." 

"Sir, I can't do that! He needs—" 

"We're moving him," Father Kotomine—or Gaav—interrupted. I thought it was more likely to be Gaav. "When we get there, you're going to hook him back up with the post-treatment supplement stuff, not that purple shit. I know how the bags are labeled, too—you people stuffed enough of that shit into me, back when—so don't give him the wrong one, got it?" He turned back to me and began to undo the strap running through my mouth. "You still with me? Val?" 

"Y-yeah," I forced out. 

"Okay. I'm going to unstrap you. I know you probably hurt like a son of a bitch, but don't start thrashing around, or it's going to make it that much more difficult to get you out of here." 

"Got it." Through gritted teeth, as a fresh surge of pain wracked me. I concentrated on regulating my breathing as big hands undid all the other straps, one at a time. I even pulled myself together enough to say, "I can walk," as he slid his arms under me, preliminary to picking me up. 

"No, you can't. Thanks to that purple stuff, your bones and joints are—temporarily—in pretty crappy shape. I doubt your legs can even hold your weight right now, and if you try to make them it could end up doing permanent damage. Even me carrying you _might_ cause problems, but not as many as trying to get one of these fucking stupid beds into the elevator." He picked me up easily and began walking with a quick, no-nonsense stride, twisting when we reached the door so that I didn't touch any part of the frame. "Best thing you can do right now is sleep it off. You should feel a lot better tomorrow. We'll talk then. I know you've got questions, or you will have when you're thinking straight again." 

We entered an elevator. I didn't see what button he pressed, but we went up. Several floors, I think. 

When we got off, it was like we were in a different building. Soft lighting, plush carpets. Like a really expensive hotel, maybe. Gaav worked a lock, and we went through a door into another room, and then across that into another one, where he laid me down on a bed—a real one, with a soft mattress and grey sheets that I thought might even have been silk, none of that hospital crap. 

"That idiot should be up with the IV in a few minutes," he said. "It's got a sedative mixed in, if she brings the right one, so you should be out like a light for the next few hours. I can tell you from experience, you'll feel a hell of a lot better after you wake up." 

"Wouldn't be hard," I said. Gathered my thoughts together, assembled another sentence. "You'll be here?" 

"Yeah. I promise." I couldn't read the expression on his face. Of course, that might have been easier if it hadn't been blurry. 

I was smiling at him when someone in white opened the door and messed with my arm for a few seconds. Couldn't seem to help myself. 

"Thanks," I tried to say as whatever was in the IV hauled me down into the dark. I'm not sure whether he heard or not. 

I woke to dim light and a bit of gauze taped to the inside of my elbow where they'd taken the IV out. I still ached, but it was manageable, and I could see properly again. I was lying on my back in a big bed with . . . yeah, silk sheets. A _really_ big bed. 

"It's an extra-long king size," a familiar deep voice said from the other side of the bed. "Anything shorter, and my feet stick out over the end. Having a bed that fucking fits is one of the few things I missed while I was . . . away." 

He was propped up against the headboard with a tablet on his lap—not the worthless old one I remembered, but something with a sleek, burnished-metal finish—and his red hair falling forward over one shoulder. Wearing a T-shirt and (I hoped—or did I?) something on his blanket-hidden lower half. Looking at me. 

"Gaav," I said. "That's your real name, isn't it?" 

He nodded. "It wasn't that I meant to lie to you. I was trying to escape from the fucking Syndicate, and that meant not letting anything slip that would imply there was a connection. Ever." 

"It's okay," I said. "I was doing pretty much the same thing, and as far as I know, there's no one actively _looking_ for me. You must have had a lot more to lose." I swallowed. "And then, for me, you . . ." 

"Yeah." He looked away, staring at the window, which was covered by a vertical wooden blind. "I seem to be going soft in the head ever since I met you, Ceiphied knows why." 

I looked away too. The walls in here were mostly blank, other than the window, but not completely. There was one thing hanging where the sunlight probably couldn't fall on it. A scroll painting, I think they call them. Antique, maybe even. A stylized picture of two men . . . kissing. One of them was wearing a brightly-coloured robe, open in front to show his dick pointing straight at the other guy, who seemed to be taking off some kind of armour. The guy in the robe had his hand inside the other one's pants, too. 

Overall, it had to be the classiest piece of gay porn I had ever seen. 

"Zelas did say that you liked young men." The moment after I said it, I wished I could take it back, because the look on his face . . . 

"I put you in here with me because you were in crappy shape and someone needed to keep an eye on you, that's all. I don't expect you to put out for me, and I sure as hell won't force you. Even with all the shit I've done, that's one line I've never, ever crossed." 

I smirked. _Reel him in._ "Well, that's just too bad, 'cause I've always had this fantasy about being pinned down and ravished by a bigger guy. Maybe we could role-play it sometime." 

Those bushy eyebrows shot straight up, and he blinked once, then started to laugh. "Fuck, don't tell me we've both been dancing around this in opposite directions for the past month or so because neither of us wanted to start a conversation about fucking!" 

"Pretty much. I mean, I thought you were an Old Rite priest. You . . . aren't, are you?" 

"Hell, no. I swiped the real Kirei Kotomine's passport off his corpse, then realized that the one place they'd never look for me was in an Old Rite church." Gaav's expression sobered again. "Val, you realize, if you ask too many more questions . . . you're stuck in here with me. It's already going to be hard to get them to let you go." 

I gave him a glare. "When did I ever say anything about leaving?" 

"It would be the sensible thing to do." 

"I don't give a damn about sensible. Without you, I'd still be living a dead-end life on the streets, sleeping in the basement of a burnt-out building and stealing from people to make ends meet. It's because of you that I've been able to move forward. And I like you and I want you and I want to _help_ you, so stop trying to push me away, okay? If staying with you means joining the Syndicate, I'll join the fucking Syndicate. And find some way to use them against the Paladins of Gold, because right now I don't have anything else." 

"You may claim to like me, but you don't even know me—just the part I was playing." 

"I know some things," I corrected. "I know you're smart. I know you're capable of being kind. I know you go to a lot of effort to hide those things about yourself. I know you're strong, and you've got a terrible temper. I know you're gay. I know you're gorgeous. And I know you want me as much as I want you. I think that's good enough for now." 

I sidled closer to him, and he reached out and put his arm around me, drawing me closer still, twisting so that we were face to face. 

"If I kiss you the way I want to, we're both going to end up with whisker burn," he said. 

"And my mouth tastes like something died in it," I admitted, checking my chin and feeling my fingers rasp over stubble. "I don't care if you don't." 

"Good. Because I don't." 

It was an aggressive, hungry kiss, and I moaned into it and parted my lips to let his tongue inside. He explored every nook and cranny of my mouth, and I just wrapped my arms around his neck and held on. 

"That did taste pretty bad," he said afterwards, with that familiar evil grin. "And I still don't give a shit. Now. If you think you can stand up for a while, we both need a shower and a shave and some breakfast . . . and a very long talk. We can spend tomorrow horizontal if you like, but I need to make sure you understand exactly what's going on here first, if you're going to help me work through this mess." 

"I think I can manage to stay on my feet for a few minutes." It wouldn't be pleasant, but I could handle that. "What did that pint-sized asshole have me on, anyway?" 

"First stage of the fucked-up supersoldier program they've been fine-tuning for the past quarter-century. For what it's worth, you'll probably never break a bone again." 

I blinked several times, digesting that and putting a bunch of little pieces together. Like, _We still haven't been able to replicate what was done to Gaav on an adult._ And, _you people stuffed enough of that shit into me, back when._

"They did this to you, too." It wasn't a question. 

"More or less. Different protocol, but most of the same drugs and shit." He stretched as he got up, muscles rippling. "And if you don't get up soon, you're going to lose your first chance to see me naked." 

I laughed, and was surprised at how good it felt. "I wouldn't give that up for anything." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I could spend hours just watching him sleep. Okay, actually, I _did_. 

Fuck, I've got it bad. 

Yeah, I'm in love. 

I can use the word now, just barely. Because there's no other word that fits the way my stomach bottoms out when I see that smirk of his, or the look in those burning gold eyes when they're pointed in my direction. 

Part of me just wants to be pissed off about it. It's an obstacle, a fucking complication that I don't need. Or do I? I was pretty well wedged into that rut I'd made for myself. I feel as dumb as Phibby thinks I am for not seeing it. And I don't think I would have moved out of that rut without a push from the outside. 

It doesn't help that I think Val's seen enough shit in his life, and here I am dumping another load on him. The knowledge that I can't protect him feels like a bullet lodged in my guts somewhere, and there's nothing I can do about it. He wouldn't want me to shield him from anything anyway. I know him well enough to understand how pissed off he'd be if I even suggested it. Ever since his people were massacred, he's been fighting just to survive. He isn't weak, not at all. In fact, it's almost scary to think what he's going to become if I can teach him to direct his energies. All that leashed hatred, pointed in the same direction with laser focus . . . it could make worlds crumble. It _will_ make worlds crumble, if he has anything to say about it. 

In a weird way, I'm almost starting to feel hopeful. The Syndicate, the Golden Paladins, and the government of a third-rate banana republic . . . maybe we really can take them all down. Together.


	11. Chapter 11

The ensuite bathroom included a gargantuan hot tub as well as a huge shower. Hell, the marble-floored room itself was probably bigger than Jillas and Gravos' apartment. It was almost funny—somehow, I'd managed to snag myself a rich boyfriend, a real sugar daddy. Without even meaning to. 

The money was tainted, of course. I was pretty sure even Gaav felt that way, or he would have brought some of it with him into hiding. 

We both watched each other as we stripped down. Well, I was only wearing briefs, so I didn't have much stripping to do. Instead, I stared at Gaav, and tried not to drool, because his body really was incredible. If he had an ounce of fat anywhere, I couldn't spot it. Just solid, powerful muscle, and a dusting of bright red hair. And . . . well . . . I swallowed as I let my eyes move south past his waist. That was certainly . . . proportionate. It twitched under my scrutiny and started to harden, and I flushed, but I couldn't take my eyes off his cock . . . off him. And he seemed to feel the same, because when I did finally manage to wrench my gaze upward, it was to meet intense blue eyes and an increasingly familiar smirk. 

Then he broke the spell by gesturing to the huge shower and said, "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." 

"It might be better if you avoided the word 'come' for a little while," I said, and he laughed. 

"We'll get to that, too. I promise." 

The shower was big enough for two, even when one of the two was someone like him. It wasn't big enough for two people to keep themselves well-separated, though. I kept on bumping up against him as I did my best to concentrate on washing—a brush of my arm against his hip or his knee against my thigh as he lathered up that monstrous length of hair. I almost forgot I wasn't feeling all that great as my dick sat up and started to take notice. 

"You're doing this on purpose," I accused. 

"This?" 

I punched him lightly in the arm. "Don't play at being stupid. You're feeling me up." 

He chuckled. "And what are you going to do about it?" 

Now it was my turn to smirk. "This," I said, and turned to face him fully. I began to trace the contours of his chest with a light touch. He went back to working on his hair, pretending to ignore me, but I knew it was a lie because of the way his muscles tensed and jumped as my fingers swept over them. 

He waited until he'd rinsed out that entire long mane of his before capturing both my wrists with one big hand. "Tease me, will you?" he growled, but he was grinning. "Let's see if you can take your punishment like a man." 

He kissed me, hard, tongue delving into my mouth. I really was going to have serious whisker burn from all this. While I was still recovering from the kiss, he turned me so that we were facing in the same direction, and wrapped his arms around my body, pulling me tight against his chest. One hand was flattened against me just below my ribcage. The other slid slowly down over my hip and across the front of my right thigh until it was between my legs and curled around my dick. 

"Fuck," I groaned. 

"That's the idea," he said, nipping my ear, then working his way down the side of my neck, stopping here and there to suck and nibble as I tilted my head to the side to give him better access. Meanwhile, his hand was stroking my cock in a steady rhythm, pausing now and again to let him swirl his thumb around the tip or run a nail delicately up the veiny underside or just finger my balls. And his erection was pressed up against my back and he wasn't being shy about rubbing it against me. 

It all made me feel very conscious, not just of being touched, but of who was touching me. I'd never experienced anything like it before. I mean, it wasn't like I was a virgin, I'd had a handful of one-night stands over the past few years, but I'd never had a real lover. Gaav wasn't just a hand to rut against, he was someone I was starting to realize I was . . . really getting attached to. Even though I hadn't known the real him for a full hour yet . . . but Gaav had always been lurking there under the surface of Father Kotomine. A strong, dangerous man with a nasty sense of humour who seemed, against all odds, to find a scrawny, scarred-up reject like me attractive. 

I groaned as he began to stroke me more firmly, squeezing just a little tighter. I'd never expected him to be this good with his hands. It felt like every drop of blood I had was headed for my cock, and it felt _so_ good. A bit dazed, I pressed my entire body backward, and was rewarded with a groan from him. 

"Fuck . . . Val . . ." I felt him tense, then shudder and pump his hips, and knew I'd just gotten him to come first. 

"A bit premature?" Hard to keep my voice steady and making real words, with him still jerking me off. 

"Out of practice—but I bet I can still make you scream my name." He had both hands between my legs now, stroking, fingering my balls and the sensitive skin behind them, and I groaned and leaned back against him. It wasn't, I told myself, that he was making me weak in the knees. Not at all. After all, I was fresh off that freaky purple drug and the whole reason he'd gotten in here with me was to hold me up. Next time it wouldn't matter. Ne—what the hell had he just touched? I groaned again as heat flared along my nerves. 

"Gh . . . aaaah . . ." _Feels so good . . ._

A chuckle. "Close enough. Come for me now, Val." He used the pressure of his arms and body to turn me just slightly, so that he was no longer partly shielding me from the hot water flowing from the showerhead. Hot, wet droplets traced the length of my sensitized cock, and it was just enough to drive me over the edge. I howled and came, splattering the far wall of the shower. 

I gasped a couple of quick breaths, then got myself under control again. "Son of a bitch—if you're out of practice, I hate to think what you're going to do to me when you're back in." 

"Use your imagination." I didn't have to turn around to know he had that evil grin on his face. 

"That's a dangerous suggestion," I said, and he laughed and reached for the bottle of . . . liquid soap, body-wash, whatever the crap was we'd been using. It was weird stuff that smelled of nothing much at all. Come to think of it, neither had the soap or shampoo he'd used at the old place. I wondered if there was a reason for that. 

We finished washing up quickly after that, and got out of the shower. The towels turned out to not only be big and fluffy, but pre-heated. I didn't even know people _did_ that. 

"Val?" 

"Just thinking that it's the little things about this place that're going to trip me up," I said. "My family was pretty well-off for Anahar, but we weren't . . . this." I gestured around the bathroom. 

A grunt. "You'll get used to it quicker than you think. Look, I don't have any safety razors. Do you want me to shave you, or would you rather I just gave you a few pointers?" 

I looked at the straight razor he was holding, with its carved bone handle—one of the few things he'd taken with him into his exile as Father Kotomine—and held out my hand. "I'd rather learn how—why waste money on those stupid safety razor blades if you don't have to?" 

"Good attitude." His smile was that familiar smirk, but his eyes were unexpectedly warm. He passed the razor to me. "The basic and obvious thing to remember is that you want the _side_ of the blade against your skin, so that the edge is at a right angle. That, and you want to make things as flat as possible." 

"You're right," I said with a grin. "It's obvious." 

He propped one hip on the counter beside the sink to watch me and occasionally offer more specific suggestions. I was grateful I'd never had much beard, because it did need a fair amount of concentration. I managed to get through it without giving myself worse than a small nick under my chin, and I pressed my fingers to it as I handed the razor back to him. 

"Need a band-aid?" he asked as he wiped the blade down. 

"Nah, it's not bad. It should stop bleeding soon enough." I watched as he wielded the razor against his own beard, which was much thicker than mine, and tried not to laugh at the faces he made. He finished up by running his free hand over his chin, checking for missed spots without using the mirror, I guess, and grunted before he wiped the razor down again and put it away. 

"I hope you don't expect me to borrow your clothes," I said as I followed him back out into the main bedroom. "I'd look like I was wearing a tent." 

"Not my clothes, no. Just a sec." He went over to the sliding glass door that divided the closet from the room proper, opened it, and pulled out a cardboard box, which he dropped on the bed. When I checked it, I found a couple of pairs of track pants, some plain folded T-shirts in size x-large, and socks and briefs still in their plastic packaging. 

"You tear the clothes off your boyfriends often?" I asked, after shaking out a shirt and discovering that it really was a lot closer to my size than his. 

"It's happened a few times," he said, pulling on a pair of boxers. "But that stuff belonged to my uncle Luke—he left it here when he eloped. They still haven't found him. Anyway, he was a bit shorter than you, and better-fed, but you have pretty similar builds overall, so I figured those would do until I can take you shopping. I tried to get your own clothes back, but Phibby cut most of them off you, just to be an asshole. I do have your shoes and your jacket—they're in the hall closet." 

He'd gone through all that trouble, just for me? I didn't know what to say, so I covered with a question. "Did your uncle really elope?" 

"Yeah, when I was about ten, with a girl he met in college. Millerna or something. He fell for her so fucking hard I'm surprised he didn't make a hole in the floor. By now, I figure he's had plastic surgery to ensure he doesn't get found, and gotten a scut job somewhere as a repairman or a janitor or something. Pay's shitty, but it's one of the easiest ways for a man to be invisible. Women have it easier that way: if they're not young and pretty, and not dressed up, no one looks at them twice. Best spy I ever knew was a fat middle-aged woman." 

I digested that while I pulled the rest of my clothes on. "Can I ask another question?" 

"Sure." 

"If the point of a closet door is to hide what's in the closet, why do you have a clear glass one?" Somehow, I didn't think it had been a random choice. 

Gaav's smile was more of a grimace. "One of the things about this room is that there's nowhere inside it that you can't see if you're standing in either of the doorways. That includes the interior of the closet. It's a fucking necessity with my brothers around—I figured that out after the first time Phibby left me a surprise." When I raised an eyebrow, he elaborated with, "Thumbtacks. All over the floor. We were five at the time. Phibby's had a screw loose since the beginning. They should have locked the little fucker up years ago, but dear old Dad won't hear of it." 

"Oh. What about under the bed?" I pulled a T-shirt on, and gave my thanks to the absent Luke Magnus, because his stuff did fit pretty well. Other than the extra inch and a half of ankle I was showing, but I could live with that. 

"It has a solid concrete pedestal with board facing, so there's no under. The glass on the closet door is bulletproof, too. And so are all the windows." 

I whistled softly. If we'd been anywhere else, I would have thought he was paranoid, but after having met Phibrizzo, I could kind of see where he was coming from. 

"I'm going to order lunch. Is your stomach still acting up? And don't lie to me, because if you throw up again, _you_ get to clean it up this time." 

_Oh, shit, did I really?_ That I didn't remember doing it didn't mean much. I'd have to apologize, but for now, I thought experimentally about food. Pizza. My stomach did a slow roll and started trying to crawl up out of its proper position. "I . . . think it's still probably not in very good shape. Might be a good idea to stick with something bland and non-greasy." 

"Fine. I'll order you some rice porridge—that used to be all I could keep down, sometimes. If you're still okay in a couple of hours, you can have something else." 

"Works for me." And I followed him out of the bedroom. 

Most of the rest of the suite seemed to be one big room, divided up by furniture rather than walls. There didn't seem to be another bedroom. Which meant that if I stayed here, I'd be sharing that big bed all the time. With him. That made me a little nervous . . . and a lot horny, even though it hadn't been half an hour since I'd gotten off. Oh, well . . . 

Anyway, the main room of the suite was divided into six, more or less: A tiny kitchen, a dining area that looked like it should seat four, a kind of office with a big desk and another table with a bunch of maps lying on it, a little sitting area with a couch and TV, an exercise area with a bunch of weight equipment, and . . . storage. 

I didn't quite believe what I was seeing at first, so I slowly approached that last area and reached out to touch one of the gun racks. There were all different kinds of guns, big and small. Other stuff, too, and while I might not have known what all of it was for, I was willing to bet that most of it had something to do with killing people. 

"Are all of these . . . real?" I asked, turning to face Gaav, who raised a bushy eyebrow and snorted. 

"You think I'd collect fucking _replicas_?" 

"Not really. It's just that I've never seen this many all at one time before. Most people don't keep an arsenal in their living room." 

Gaav shrugged. "It's all part of the act." 

"What act?" 

"The one that's got most of my family convinced that I'm a meathead who's only interested in fighting and fucking." 

"Oh." Not sure what to say, I turned back to the gun racks. "Are any of these loaded?" 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head. "Ammo's in the safe in the corner, and the guns I actually carry from day to day are in a locked box bolted to a bench in the entryway. We'll put yours there too, when you settle on what you want to use." 

"That might take a while. About all I know about guns is that you aren't supposed to point them at anything you don't want to shoot. I was thinking, when I went to rescue Jillas, that I was an idiot never to have learned." 

A tiny bit of tension seemed to leave his body language when I said that. "Good. I won't have to argue with you about taking lessons, then. Because I'll tell you, Val, this building is one of the most fucking dangerous places in the world that isn't in an active war zone, and I want you to know how to keep yourself safe." 

"You'll teach me? How to fight?" I wanted to be absolutely clear about it, to avoid disappointment. 

"That's what I fucking _said_ , isn't it? If we have time, I'll teach you everything I know. Which is probably going to be more than you want to find out." 

I offered him a crooked grin. "Then it's a good thing I want to learn, isn't it?" 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

That cocky smile, and the fire in his eyes as he spoke . . . Fuck, I feel like I'm trapped in a movie cliche. Being in love shouldn't change a single fucking thing about my situation . . . and yet it somehow does. I want to get him out alive. Shit, I want to get us _both_ out alive, 'cause I'm pretty sure losing me would hurt him. _And_ I want to help him get his revenge. 

I've never wanted anything this badly before. It gives me something like an adrenaline rush, but I don't just want to run and fight, I want to laugh, too. Out loud, joyfully, the way I hardly ever let myself do while I lived here before. I also want to fuck him through the nearest mattress, of course. I think I'm still going to want that when I'm ninety and he's eighty, if we make it that far.


	12. Chapter 12

"I'll start with your new in-laws, and work outward. It's going to take a while, just so you know." 

"It isn't like I've got anywhere I need to be." _In-laws. I bet they'd hate it if I called them that._ I took a sip of my tea before picking up my spoon again. My stomach was slowly coming back under control as I ate. 

"So," Gaav began, staring meditatively into his coffee cup. He'd already cleared his plate of a massive portion of steak and eggs and set it aside. "It was my grandmother that originally set up the Ruby-Eye Syndicate. She went by 'Lina Magnus', but that wasn't her real name—she went to the grave without telling anyone that. Seventy or so years ago, she took a mess of smugglers and drug dealers and even some genuine fucking ocean-going pirates and got them all kind of pointing in the same direction. Somewhere in all of that, she also found the time to have three kids by three different husbands. Uncle Rezo's the only one who took his father's name—he went through one hell of a rebellious phase. That's why Dad—Lei Magnus—ended up taking over the Syndicate. And you already know about Uncle Luke." Gaav chuckled darkly. "Dad decided that he wasn't going to do anything like that when his time came. No, he was going to create a perfect fucking heir, with the help of modern science. So he bought a couple of fertility clinics and started stealing eggs." 

"You're serious." I took in another spoonful of the rice porridge. It had a subtle flavour of ginger and salt—better than I'd expected it would be when I'd first lifted the cover off the bowl. And the tea was perfect. Really, the room service in this place was incredible. 

Gaav snorted. "He didn't just steal any old eggs, either—he picked what he thought were the best of the best, and then had the scientists he'd recruited go to work. From what I overheard as a kid, they lost most of the embryos that way. When they were down to three, they found surrogates for the survivors." 

"You, Phibrizzo, and . . . Zelas," I guessed. 

"Got it in one. Not that any of us were meant to inherit. No, we were the test runs for different classes of enhancement. Physical, in my case. Dolphin was supposed to be the heir." 

"The blue-haired woman? I thought it was that guy Dynast." 

"He's the heir _now_ —dear old Dad's one legitimate child. Dolphin's autistic. They're not sure whether they fucked something up or she was just supposed to be that way all along. Part of what they did worked, because she's pretty fucking sharp in most areas, but being the head of the Syndicate means being able to manipulate people, and she's below average at that. So. Dynast brown-noses to Dad to keep his position, 'cause he knows Zelas is better suited, but she's too independent, and that pisses Dad off. Phibby brown-noses just as hard, 'cause he knows the rest of us hate him. Zelas and Dolly and I always got along, pretty much. Rezo's a wild card. Xellos—that's Zelas' son—is getting just old enough that he might be starting to throw his two-cents'-worth in, but I don't know who he's backing, if anyone." 

So that Lei bastard had a grandson. Wait a minute . . . "What about Zelgadis? If he's Rezo's grandson, that makes him . . . your cousin or something, right?" 

Gaav snorted. "Yeah, but he doesn't know Rezo has anything to do with the Syndicate. The old buzzard's kept him pretty isolated from all this shit. I doubt he could even find Wolf Pack Island on a map. Far as I know, I'm the only person from this side of the family who's ever met him, and I think it's obvious he had no clue who I was. I mean, it isn't like Rezo keeps family pictures lying around." 

"So now that you're back, it's pretty much a fifty-fifty split straight up the middle in terms of alliances, and Rezo off doing his own thing. Whatever that is." I swirled the last bit of rice porridge with my spoon. 

"I'm not quite sure about that either," Gaav admitted. "And it looks like I need to find out, because if there's a link between the Syndicate and the Golden Paladins, you can bet it goes through him. And if there isn't one already, he's the only way to set one up. Doesn't matter how we want to go about wiping all the pieces off the board—he's going to be involved." 

"Great," I muttered. "So . . . what am I supposed to be in all this? Just your fucktoy? Or are we going to tell them the truth?" _Whatever the truth is._

He shook his head. "I had in mind making you my fiance, if that doesn't bother you. You'll be safer if they think you're important." 

I blinked. "Wait a sec—is that legal here? We could actually get _married_?" 

"Yeah—I looked it up, years and years ago. The Syndicate used to use the marriage licenses as a source of income at one point. I'm not . . . really proposing, you understand. Not yet. Maybe when we . . . know each other better." 

"Anyone ever told you you're cute when you blush?" I asked. He was, too. Even if it clashed with his hair. 

" _I am not fucking blushing!_ " he thundered. 

We stared at each other for a moment. Then I started to laugh, and after another moment, he joined in. 

"You know," I said when we'd both run down, "despite everything, I'm kinda glad we ended up here. If we'd stayed in Seyruun, it might have taken me years to winkle the real you out from underneath Father Kotomine, and I like the real you better. Even if you yell a lot." 

"Get used to it, because once your lessons start I'm going to be yelling a lot more. Now. Back to where I left off. Positions in the Syndicate. Dear old Dad just couldn't bring himself to leave any of us at grunt level, so we're all director of this or VP of that. Except Dolly, who's sort of the entire tech security squad for the headquarters building. Dynast is basically Dad's day-to-day second-in-command, Zelas does negotiations with outside groups, and Rezo doesn't have an official position, but he kind of liases with a bunch of charities, including the ones that do most of the money laundering. I was being groomed to take over the paramilitary arm when I got the fuck out, and it looks like I'm being dropped straight back into that slot now that I've turned back up again." 

"Seriously? They still trust you that much?" I put my empty porridge bowl aside and cradled my teacup between my hands. 

Gaav's grin went well past evil and on into twisted this time. "Evidently they assumed I didn't spill the beans to the police all those years because I was still basically loyal rather than because I wanted to avoid outing myself to their law enforcement moles. Dad and Dynast think I'm too dumb to figure that shit out." 

"I still don't get how you managed to convince them you were stupid. I mean, _they'd_ have to be pretty dumb themselves to get fooled just because you swear a lot." 

"Oh, that. When I was eleven, one of the drug combinations they were stuffing me with gave me what I figured out later was synesthesia. Smelling shapes and tasting sounds and colours was pretty fucking distracting, and my scores on the tests they were giving me to 'monitor my condition' went straight into the toilet. By the time I came out of it, about six months later, I'd figured out that it was kind of useful to have people think I was a dumb sack of meat and no one expected more than that from me anyway, so I kept turning in bad tests. The swearing's just an add-on to keep people who _don't_ know me that well from paying too much attention. Plus it's kind of . . . cathartic, sometimes. Anyway, Phibby and his pals don't use that particular drug combination anymore. Which might turn out to be important for you." 

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" My hands tightened around my teacup, because I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what was coming. 

From the way Gaav was scowling, he didn't like it either. "Everyone's going to expect me to be grooming you to work with me. Which means you'll be trying to boss around a bunch of thick-headed lunks who've already had the full course of supersoldier enhancements and could crumple you up like a sheet of tissue paper. Even the best training I can give you wouldn't be enough on its own." 

"So you're saying I have to go back to that little shit and his 'experiments'?" Somehow, I managed not to break the teacup. 

Gaav shook his head. "No more experiments, just the same meds as all the guys you're going to be trying to order around. Or I can ask Zelas about finding a job for you, but since you don't have a degree or professional cert, it's going to be scutwork—filing, errands, making coffee. I'd give you maybe two weeks before you try to punch the grin off the face of some supercilious little shit. Or you could go back to school full-time, if you really wanted, but that might put us in a holding pattern here until you were out again. Because I'm not really sure how much I can accomplish without you." 

I'd been about to say something nasty, but his words stopped me right in my tracks. Because I could feel the truth of them. He really _was_ worried about being stuck here alone. Which meant that I had to tell him what I was worried about, too. 

"That . . . When you pulled me out of that lab, I was ready to die. I . . . hit the upper limit of the amount of pain I could handle, I guess, and I just wanted everything to go away. I don't think I can take that again." 

Gaav scowled. "First of all, you should have been out cold while you were on that shit, but Phibby gets off on torturing people. Or he would, if he'd ever gotten to the point of being able to get off at all. Secondly, the amount of it they gave you in six hours should have been spread out over a week or more. I promise it won't be nearly so bad if you go forward with this. And I'll be keeping an eye on Phibby to make sure he doesn't try anything. Fuck, I'll sit with you during the treatments and check every bag, bottle, needle, and pill, if you want me to." 

I played with my teacup, turning it around and around between my hands. I knew what I needed to do, I really did, but I needed to gather my courage. Because this was scarier than walking into the lion's den to fetch Gravos and Jillas. It wasn't just my _life_ I was putting on the line this time. 

"I think I'm old enough to go to my doctor's appointments alone," I said at last, and answered Gaav's grin with a smirk of my own. "I don't suppose they've got a brochure or something that explains what this crap is actually supposed to do." 

"Greater strength and endurance and better reflexes, mostly—not that it'll make you Superman or anything, the average improvement is about thirty percent, but that can make a hell of a lot of difference in the field. Also better night vision. They used to try to improve all the senses, but they gave that up when they realized it was more of a nuisance than a help." 

I blinked. "That's why you use that weird unscented soap stuff. And no cologne or aftershave." 

"Pretty much. I was glad when they stopped making tube TV sets, too. Fucking capacitor whine used to drive me crazy. I wore earplugs all the time, but it didn't help much." 

"Sounds like I should be really glad that pint-sized asshole dropped that line of research. What about other side effects?" 

"While the treatments are going on, a weaker version of what you were dealing with last night and this morning—pain, nausea, vertigo. You're _supposed_ to get pills to offset as much of that as possible. You get sensitive to light at some points. One guy went blind for a couple of days, but he pulled out of it, and there haven't been any other cases. I was reading the updated files when you woke up, or as much of them as I can make sense out of," he added when I gave him a skeptical look. "I don't know shit about chemistry or any medicine more complicated than the field type, but cross-referencing sections with headings like 'Patient Responses' with a medical dictionary can tell you a fair amount. The long-term consequences . . . well, the lab mice they used in the first test lived two months longer, on average, than other lab mice—the ones they didn't kill so they could dissect them, anyway. No signs of problems in the earliest human subjects, either, although they're still pretty young. Given what's facing us, I figure it's a waste of time to worry about it doubling our chances of prostate cancer when we hit seventy, or anything like that." 

"Yeah. If I make it to seventy, and I haven't already finished the important stuff, there's something really wrong." My tea was getting cold, but I drank some anyway. "You won't throw me out on the street if I do go blind, will you?" 

"Hell, no! I'll light a fire under Phibby's ass until he finds some way to fix it. I'm not letting you go. Ever." 

The smile that spread itself slowly across my face as I met his intense, shadowed blue eyes felt odd, but in a good way, if that makes any sense. I hadn't felt warm and comfortable like this for so long that it took me a moment to figure out. 

Safe. Despite all the crap staring me in the face, I felt _safe_ , for the first time since I'd lost my family, my home . . . everything. _He_ made me feel safe. 

"So what's our real next step?" I asked. "I take it that the idea you had before, the one about trying to find a journalist to do a lot of yelling for us, is off the table now." 

"I never liked it that much," Gaav admitted. "It did have a chance of working, but there were too many random factors. And it wouldn't have touched the Syndicate. Plus, we might have gone through a lot of journalists—the Paladins have a few people who specialize in dirty tricks, although they'd never admit it. I just didn't have the resources at the time to come up with anything better." 

"And now?" 

"Now we have access to a chunk of the Syndicate. If we can get the Syndicate and the Paladins to duke it out over something neither group is willing to give up, and get the Paladins to drag the government of Anahar down with them, that's ideal. And all of those groups have one thing in common: they're motivated by power. The difficult part is likely to be roping the Paladins in." 

"And not the government of Anahar?" 

There was that nasty smile of his. "Oh, they're easier than a starving whore. All we have to do is dangle you out in front of them, and we should be able to lead them wherever we want them to go. They have no choice but to silence you. If what happened to your people ever leaks out, well, the worst-case scenario for them involves embargoes, assassinations, and probably a revolution. No other country has any interest in propping up their regime, and the Reform church is capable of recognizing a lost cause. The Paladins can use their reputation to distance themselves from the mess, though. That's why we have to rope them in good and solid before we start." 

"And how do we do that?" I demanded. 

"I don't know . . . yet. We need to put some feelers out, find some strings we can pull. I expect it'll take at least a couple of months to come up with anything useful." 

"Damn," I muttered. My revenge was so close I could _taste_ it, and yet . . . and yet . . . 

"Don't worry—you're going to be too busy for the next little while to think about it much. I want you to at least learn how to aim a gun. Don't think I'm going to go easy on you just because we're sleeping together, either." 

"I wouldn't want you to anyway." Guns. My parents were probably spinning in their graves like a high-speed carnival ride, and yet I couldn't see that it was all that much different from using my fists, or a knife, or a baseball bat. 

"Didn't figure you would. You're not the delicate type." He gave me an approving look. 

I stretched, then winced. "Damn, I still hurt like a son of a bitch. Is there much more on the agenda for today?" 

"I figured I'd give you a quick tour of the building, get you registered with the computer system and that shit, and make a quick trip to the shops on the ground floor so you can get something to wear that isn't borrowed. We'll do the really boring stuff, like the tailor, tomorrow. But you can rest for an hour or so if you need to." 

I shook my head. "I don't think resting's going to help much, but if you've got some ibuprofen . . ." 

"In the bathroom. I'll show you. Should've thought of it earlier." He got up, and I followed him back into the bathroom. 

"Thanks. Why a tailor?" 

"Because if you're posing as my fiance, you'll be expected to come with me to family functions—parties, charity dinners, that kind of shit. I duck out of as many of them as I can, but some I do have to show for. Which means you're going to need a tux. And etiquette lessons, since Phibby and Dynast are probably going to arrange everything possible to trip you up." 

I took the offered bottle of ibuprofen and swallowed a pill dry. "I wish I thought you were kidding me. Etiquette lessons. Can I skip the dancing and the flower arranging, at least for now?" 

Gaav chuckled. "Flower arranging isn't a requirement. We'll revisit the dance lessons if we're still here _next_ Cephiedmas, which I doubt. Yes, I did have some when I was a kid," he added at my surprised look. "Along with etiquette and deportment. I break the fucking rules all the time, but it's always on purpose." 

"For effect, you mean." 

"That, too," he admitted. "You ready to go now?" 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

. . . starting to be able to translate "Fuck, have I got it bad" into code in my sleep. Sometimes it seems like that's all I write lately . . . but maybe that's because it's true. 

I hope Val doesn't realize the real reason I came against his back in the shower was that some part of me wanted to mark him with my scent. Talk about your fucking primitive impulses! But I can't shake it—he's mine, so he should smell like me. It's enough to make me wonder, and not for the first time, exactly what the side effects of that shit the Research people pumped me full of were. 

I spent a good chunk of the afternoon just following Val around, watching him pick out T-shirts. Watching those eyes of his flash as his emotions shifted. 

He still isn't used to being Someone, even by association. He did a barely-passable job of hiding his surprise when the girl at the admin counter called him _sir_. We'll have to work on that, along with everything else. But he's now officially a Class Eight, just shy of my Class Nine. I would say it was just more stupid theatre if I didn't know what someone with those credentials could do if he really wanted to fuck up the Syndicate. Once. He wouldn't get a second chance. 

I wonder how many of my _dear_ family think I brought him home just to piss everyone off. It's the kind of crude, juvenile, rebellious shit I used to pull from time to time to make myself look as dumb as possible, and it isn't like any of them would recognize love if it walked up and whacked them over the head with a tire iron. Zelas may have figured out that I've gotten hooked on a pair of golden eyes, but there's no way she'd ever understand why. And I'm still not sure what she thinks of him. We'll find out tomorrow, I guess.


	13. Chapter 13

The door to Gaav's apartment had just closed behind us when he suddenly stopped short, felt his chest, checked his pockets, then pressed his chin to his collarbones and checked down the front of his shirt. 

"Forgot your ID?" I asked him. The crystal pendant was the one thing I could think of that he'd be looking down the front of his shirt to find. 

Mine hung against my chest like a lead weight. It wasn't a fake he'd set up this time, either—I was a real member of the Ruby-Eye Syndicate. A ridiculously high-ranking one. I could send orders back to Seyruun that Dilgear was to kill himself in a particularly embarrassing way, and he'd have to actually _do_ it. 

It scared me, knowing I had that kind of authority. And that was just one of the types of power Gaav had given me. 

There was another weight at my side, hanging from my belt. He'd chosen the pistol for me, and I hadn't actually shot it yet, although I'd dry-fired it a couple of times, under his supervision. He'd shown me how to hold it, and told me that we'd be going to a firing range later that day, after the tailor and the jeweler and whatever else he had planned and _fuck_ , what the hell was I doing here . . . ? 

_Don't think about it,_ I told myself. If I did, I'd be too scared to do anything except faint on the spot. 

"Yeah—I guess it's going to take me a little while to get used to needing the fucking thing again. I'll be back in a second." 

He slipped back through the door, leaving me alone in the elevator lobby. I sighed and leaned against a wall, pretending I didn't know that the wallpaper had cost more than everything I'd owned as of a couple of weeks ago. There were three other doors opening into this space, although I couldn't see the third one—three other apartments, occupied by Phibrizzo and Gaav's two sisters. Dynast apparently lived on the floor above, with the members of the older generation. There was a spiral staircase linking those two floors, but I hadn't thought of it as something anyone would ever use when they had a private elevator, so I was surprised to hear a soft chime of metal and see red robes slowly descending. 

Rezo. Of all the batshit things about the Syndicate, having a Reform archpriest unofficially involved in running it had to be the craziest. 

I watched as he picked his way down to the bottom of the stairs, the rings on his long staff chiming. Really, why didn't he just have a white cane like most blind people? 

I'd assumed he was going to go to one of the other apartments—Phibrizzo's, maybe—and knock, and I had no intention of interrupting him, but when he reached the bottom of the stairs, he struck the staff hard against the tiles and stood, listening, while the echoes faded. 

"Who's there?" he asked, turning to face in my direction. 

"How could you tell there was anyone at all?" If he was going to insist on talking to me, I figured I might as well try to satisfy my curiosity. 

"I've grown quite skilled, over the years, in interpreting the reverberations from my staff. Val, wasn't it? My nephew Gaav's . . ." Rezo paused, frowning. "What exactly _is_ the nature of your relationship?" 

Thankfully, that was when the apartment door opened again. "He's my _fiance_ , Uncle Rezo," Gaav said. "So get used to him, because he's going to be part of the family." His hand brushed against his gun, worn openly at his belt here, like mine. I didn't think it was an idle gesture. 

"Oh?" It should have been a noncommittal sound, but something in the way Rezo made it set the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up. "Congratulations to you both, then. Val, if I may ask . . . ?" 

"Yes?" I said when he didn't seem inclined to continue. 

"Was the 'Father Winterbourne' you claimed had given you your Syndicate identification plaque a complete fabrication? I haven't been able to find any record of him." 

"You've probably been looking in the wrong places," I said with a shrug. "He was Old Rite and he's been dead for more than five years. Not completely made up, but not involved in this, either." 

"I see." Rezo somehow managed to say that without the least trace of irony. "Thank you." 

"Now, if you don't mind, we've got an appointment in ten minutes," Gaav said. He also took me by the arm and began to pull me towards the elevator. I didn't resist. 

"Of course," Rezo said. "Until we meet again, then." He offered us a shallow bow, somehow even managing to face in the right direction. 

"Creepy fucker," Gaav muttered as soon as we were inside the elevator with the doors shut. "I always get the feeling he's laughing at me." 

"You can always bleed off the stress by thinking of new and interesting ways to tie him into knots," I suggested. 

Gaav laughed. "Fuck, I knew there was a reason I liked you. A bigger one than just that you have a nice ass." 

"Stop that," I muttered, blushing. People didn't normally compliment me on my appearance. 

"What, I'm not allowed to think you have a nice ass? You have a good body, you know. Just needs a bit more meat on it in the right places, and it'll be perfect." 

"I'm a scarred-up mess," I snapped. 

"I've never seen you without those scars, remember? And I fell for you anyway. You've got to stop being so fucking insecure." He had me by the shoulders now, towering over me as he stared down into my eyes. It sent a weird little shiver running up my spine. The only other person I knew who was more than a couple of inches taller than me was Gravos, and he wasn't nearly as overwhelming as Gaav. 

I . . . liked it. When he dominated me. Even if I wouldn't have stood for it from anyone else. 

"I guess this still feels too much like some kind of crazy dream," I said. 

"Trust me, it isn't." And he bent down toward me. 

When the elevator reached the ground floor and the doors opened, our mouths were firmly locked together. 

Someone chuckled. "You don't waste any time, do you, Gaavvie?" 

Gaav broke the kiss and said, "I've wasted too much already. If you hadn't warned me that Phibby had him, I might not have found him until too late." 

Zelas was wearing an off-white pantsuit today. It clung to her figure in a way that a straight man would probably have found attractive, accentuating her breasts. _Ugh._ But it wasn't her fault she'd been born female. 

"Are you going to introduce us properly?" she asked. 

"If you like. Val, this is my sister Zelas, one of the few members of my family who isn't a total asshole. Zel, this is Val, my fiance." 

Zelas smiled and offered me her hand to shake. She had a surprisingly firm grip. "No wonder you're so loyal to Gaavvie. I hope we'll get along. It'll be nice to have another man in the family who doesn't see me as a piece of meat." 

"Sorry you have to put up with that." It seemed like a safe thing to say. I didn't really get how to talk to women—I hadn't been around them all that much these past few years. 

"Being designed for sex appeal sucks," she admitted, with a kind of wry grimace. "Still, when I consider what Gaavvie and even Phibby went through, I can't help thinking that I got off easy. I mean, the most I got was a couple of hormone shots and an unwanted boob job." 

I didn't know what to say to that at all. Fortunately, Zelas filled in the silence. "So where are you two off to?" 

"Lepanto's." 

"Tuxes?" 

Gaav grunted an affirmative, then added, "Mine still fits, but Val doesn't have anything appropriate to wear to the formal shit, and we all know how much of that there is during the Ceiphiedmas lead-up. At least the ball at the end of this month is a costume thing." 

Zelas fell into stride with us as we began to move off. She had to take three steps for every two of Gaav's, and while balancing on three-inch heels at that, but she was obviously used to it. "Have you decided what you're going as, yet?" 

My lover shook his head. "I haven't decided who I want to piss off, and how much. It'd probably be better to stay neutral until I've found my feet here again, but I'm this close—" He held up his thumb and forefinger, half an inch apart. "—to tearing Phibby into bloody chunks the size of a fucking sugar cube for what he did to Val, and I'm not much happier with Dad or Dynast." 

"Could we maybe try to pick something that makes a different point than just 'I'm pissed off at you'?" I asked. 

Gaav shrugged. "Maybe. What did you have in mind?" 

"I'm not sure," I admitted, "but it feels like we should be able to do more with this." 

Gaav's scowl this time was the one that meant he was thinking. I was starting to be able to pick up on nuances like that already. 

"There has to be some other message you'd like to send," Zelas said, with a crooked smile. "Like, 'I'm a loyal member of the Syndicate', maybe?" 

"They don't seem to need anyone's help to convince themselves of that." Gaav pushed the lobby door open, and we were instantly hit with a blast of heat. I hoped we weren't walking far. "Bunch of fucking idiots." 

"Just self-absorbed." Zelas was still keeping pace with us as we moved off down the block. There was a long pause as we waited for the light to change at a crosswalk. It wasn't until we were on the other side of the street that she added, "We should be clear now, unless there's someone following us. Tell me what's really going on. If you'd only come back to fetch Val, you would have flown him out of here while he was still out cold with an IV in his arm—no offense, Val." 

"None taken," I said. "But—clear of what?" 

"The security cameras," Gaav rumbled. "There aren't any in the family apartments, but the rest of the building is full of them." 

"Great," I said. "It would have been nice if you'd warned me." 

Gaav shook his head. "I forgot, okay? Too many fucking things to keep track of." 

"I'll survive." He'd been bound to screw something up sooner or later, I knew—ever since we'd gotten embroiled with the Syndicate, he'd been dancing through a minefield. I was just glad his mistake had been something minor. 

"As for what's really going on," my lover added to his sister, "it's the old plan . . . with a twist and a reasonable set of tactics this time. There're some people from Val's past that he wants to get rid of, and we think we can point them at each other and then clean up the leftovers. If you want details of who and what, you'll have to ask him, 'cause it isn't my story to tell." 

"Hmm." Zelas cast me a sidelong glance. 

"I know Gaav trusts you, but I'd like to reserve judgement for a couple more days," I said. "For all we know, you might have switched sides over the past few years." 

Zelas chuckled, low and throaty. "You're cautious. That's good. I thought Gaavvie was insane when he said he'd come back for you, but he picked a good seed. None of the rest of us have found partners, you know, and I don't think we're ever likely to. We're too broken up inside." 

"I thought you had a kid." Maybe not the smartest thing I could have said, but it slipped out anyway. 

"I'm afraid I took a page from Father's book there, more or less. I found a man with the qualities I thought would be useful in a child, seduced him, and then broke it off as soon as I was sure I was pregnant. There was no love involved." 

I blinked. If Gaav was just over thirty, and he and Zelas were the same age, and the kid was old enough to get involved in Syndicate politics . . . "Fuck, how old were you?" 

"Sixteen," she said without a trace of discomfort. "Xellos will be fifteen in the spring. You grow up fast when you're stuck in the middle of the kind of crap we have to deal with." 

I offered her a thin smile. "Oh, believe me, I understand about growing up fast." After all, I'd gone from being a kid who had his family as a protective wall between him and the world to an independent adult who had to fend for himself in the space of a single night. 

"Val has his own personal roadmap of hell," Gaav put in. "Different from ours, although I think it might overlap mine a bit at one corner. It was one of the first things I noticed about you," he added to me when I raised an eyebrow. "That you knew what it was like to be down there, wading through the fucking rivers of fire. Even before I knew your story, I could tell." 

He turned and began to climb the steps to the entrance of a small shop sandwiched in between two much taller buildings before I could shake the image of a roadmap drawn in blood on a dead man's skin. With an inward shudder, I turned to follow him inside. 

The air conditioning was a relief. I still wasn't quite sure where Wolf Pack Island was, but it had to be near the equator to still be so hot in mid-autumn. 

Inside . . . well, it wasn't what I'd expected. I'd never been to a store that sold clothes that didn't also have racks of ready-made stuff for people to pick through. This place just had a handful of well-dressed mannequins and a lot of bolts of raw fabric along the walls. At the back of the store, a young man and an old one were standing at a counter, bent over a catalogue, discussing something. 

The old man looked up and adjusted his glasses as we approached him. "Ah, Mister Magnus. It has been quite a long time. And this must be young Mister Agares." He had an odd, faint accent that I couldn't place. 

"Hi," I said—damn, maybe I _needed_ those etiquette lessons, because the single syllable didn't seem appropriate, somehow. 

"Don't I get a greeting, Mister Lepanto?" Zelas asked. 

"Hmph. I know you are just here to spectate, Miss Magnus, so there is no need." 

"You haven't changed," Gaav rumbled. "Listen, Val needs at least one decent suit as well as the tux, for the functions we can't avoid." 

"Hmm. Would you please step into that patch of sunlight over there, Mister Agares? I need a better look." Lepanto pointed to the patch he meant, and I did as I was told, standing, tense, as he circled me. " _Hmm._ " 

"Did I grow a tail or something?" I asked—the old man was making me feel uncomfortable. 

"Ah, no. It is just that your colouring is most unusual. I am not certain that the traditional black tuxedo is a good choice for you." 

Zelas tapped a forefinger against her lower lip. "Try him in white, I think. Or dark blue." 

The old man blinked. "Blue! Yes, blue. I believe you are correct, Miss Magnus. And grey for the suit. Perol, bring out the sample jackets! Mister Agares, would you please hold out your arms?" 

I spent half an hour after that being treated like a damned clothes horse, with people measuring bits of me and hanging jackets on me, while Lepanto and Zelas talked about cuts and lapel styles and fabric weights, and Gaav leaned one hip on the counter and watched us without saying very much. 

I'll give the old man this: I expected him to freak out when he saw the gun, but he just touched the holster and said something about suspicious bulges and needing special tailoring to hide them. I guess he'd been working for the Magnus family for a while. 

"We don't know if that's the type of gun Val's going to settle on," Gaav put in unexpectedly. 

Lepanto _hmm_ 'd and fiddled with his glasses. "Then what should I allow for?" 

Gaav looked at me. I shrugged helplessly—there hadn't been _time_ , damn it! My lover shrugged too, and said, "Assume a dual rig like mine with a pair of nine millimeter pistols, I guess. If he settles on something more exotic, we can always come back. Oh, and you should allow for him to bulk up by at least twenty pounds, probably more." 

" _What?!_ " I asked sharply. 

"Val, you've been half-starved for years. Trust me, with what you're about to go through, you're going to gain muscle fast." 

Which probably wasn't a bad thing—I couldn't quite count my ribs by sight, but I didn't have to probe too hard to feel them with my fingers. It was just that I was trying not to think about what was going to be happening to me in that lab, starting tomorrow. 

Finally, Lepanto had finished measuring and Zelas had finished arguing, and Gaav left the counter to stand by my side. 

"We've got a couple of other places to visit," he said, draping an arm across my shoulders. 

"Just remember to come back in two weeks for the final fitting, Mister Agares," the tailor said, and turned his attention to putting the bolts of fabric he'd pulled out away again. 

"Right," I said. And then, to Gaav, "The firing range?" 

"We've got a couple of other stops to make first. You don't want to tag along for this next one," he added to Zelas. 

"I suspect I know where you're going anyway," she said. "I'll see you later, little brother." 

"Later, _little_ sister." They both chuckled, and Gaav headed for the door. I caught up with him just as he reached it. 

"Where _are_ we going?" I asked. 

"To buy lube," he said bluntly. "Plus a couple of other things." 

I flushed. "Oh." 

"Difficult to believe you're still such an innocent, after all the shit you've been through," he said. 

"That 'shit' may have included a lot of violence and general ugliness, but I was lucky to get laid two or three times a year." My face was still hot. 

"Well, that just goes to show that no one in Seyruun has any fucking taste." 

"Or that you're crazy," I retorted. 

He laughed that big booming laugh. "Oh, I'm sure I am. Feels great." 

I rolled my eyes. "I don't know why I put up with you." 

Except that I did, of course. I put up with him because I . . . loved . . . him. This strong, fierce, handsome man who insisted on hiding so many of his better qualities. 

We covered two blocks in silence after that, until Gaav wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and said, "Fuck, I'd forgotten just how hot it gets here. One of the things I really didn't miss. You okay?" 

"Reminds me of summer at home," I said. "Or it would if it wasn't October." 

The weather was a nice neutral topic that kept us occupied for another block, around a corner, and down a flight of stairs leading to a door that was half-above and half-below street level. There were no signs, but the credit card decals on the door suggested it was a store of some kind. _What_ kind, I discovered as soon as I stepped inside. 

The front just had clothes and stuff—well, lingerie and fetish gear. The actual sex toys were further back. 

"Normal people just buy lube at the drugstore," I said, drawing on my inner punk to keep from blushing again. 

Gaav grimaced. "This is one of the few places on the fucking island that reliably stocks condoms that fit me. I _think_ I'm clean, but I want to be absolutely sure, and that means waiting for them to finish the tests. Which takes a couple of weeks, since they have to culture a bunch of shit. And I'm not willing to wait that long to be with you." 

I swallowed. "I don't know if I am. Clean, I mean. I did use condoms, but they, um, slipped off a couple of times. Mine or the other guy's." 

"Phibby already started the tests on you—he wouldn't want his precious data to get contaminated, after all. Sorry." 

"It isn't your fault." I hated it when he looked like that, with his eyes all shadowed. Like he was staring into the hell he'd described, with its rivers of fire. "Oh, for the love of . . ." I leaned up and kissed him, hard. "I didn't like what he did to me, but I'm alive, and I'm here. With you. That's good enough." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

Good enough? Was it really? I wasn't nearly as sure of that as he was. Phibby's actions were pretty fucking close to rape, or maybe torture or enslavement. I can't really scrape the words together, but there's a link, a loss of control over your own body. That's what my asshole brother did to Val, and it pisses me off so much it almost makes me see red. 

That's what they did to me, too, so I know it isn't easy to shake off. It took me years to grab hold of my own destiny and try to control it, because I didn't think I had the ability to run my own life. I'd spent all my life being ordered this way and that, usually by Dear Old Dad. 

Fuck, I hate that man. Even more than Phibby. I mean, Phibby's nasty enough, but he doesn't really have any long-term plans of his own—he just goes along with Dad's. If we go through with this, Lei Magnus is the one we're really going to be fighting. 

You'd think I'd be frightened, but the truth is, I feel like my entire body is on fire with energy. For the first time _ever_ , I get to fight back against his shit. I don't have to shut up and swallow it anymore. 

I almost wish that the Ancient Clan's superweapon was real. Using it to blast all of them—Syndicate, Paladins, and government—to hamburger would just be such an _appropriate_ way of finishing this.


	14. Chapter 14

" _Fuck_ , that's loud!" My ears were ringing as I lowered the pistol. I'd missed the target, too, I noted in disgust. 

"Which is why I wanted you to fire it just once _without_ ear protection," Gaav said. "Watching too many movies really fucks up people's understanding of how guns work." 

I nodded, since I now also knew that you _don't_ hold the gun sideways if you want to have much hope of hitting anything, and hitting things at any distance isn't that easy. "What about silencers?" 

"They make it quieter, and with a good one and a small gun you might smooth it out enough to make it sound like someone slamming a car door or something, but the only _silent_ way to use a gun is to use it as a club. You've got a fucking _explosion_ going on inside there, after all. Explosions aren't quiet." 

I blinked and looked down at the gun with more respect. As though I'd needed any more. 

"Anyway," Gaav said, "you hit the target about three-quarters of the time, which is a better result than anyone who's never held one of those before deserves to get." 

I raised my eyebrows. "The edge counts?" 

"Half points, anyway. Clipping a guy's elbow is still better than nothing. Makes it difficult for him to use the arm." 

"Oh." That made sense. "Do you ever just hit the edge?" 

"Not in years, but I'm kind of out of practice." 

"Well, here's a perfect opportunity for you to get back in." 

"Smartass. Okay, one clip. Put these back on." He handed me the earmuffs he'd swiped off my head a couple of minutes earlier, and I rolled my eyes and obeyed. 

I didn't understand how the mechanisms that dropped new paper targets down or moved them around worked, so it was only after he'd tripled—maybe quadrupled—the distance that I understood what he was adjusting. 

" . . . and random movement—well, as much as it can when it runs on tracks," he added, flicking one last switch. "There." 

He closed his eyes and took a breath, and I repositioned my earmuffs so that they really were covering my ears. On the exhale, he pulled the gun from his right-hand holster, opened his eyes, brought it up, and shot, pulling the trigger with a quick, rhythmic motion. Six shots, and then he slammed the gun back into the holster and used the equipment to call the target he'd perforated over. He unclipped it from its frame and laid it out, then stood scowling down at it as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing. 

"Fuck," he growled at last. "I _am_ rusty." 

I blinked at him. "Are you kidding me? I mean, look!" I put my hand over the bullet holes. It covered all but the outermost edge of one, and they were all clustered on the human-shaped outline's head. He'd told me to aim for the chest instead, since it was the bigger target. 

"You can still tell there are separate holes, Val. I used to be good enough to make them all overlap." 

There wasn't much I could say, except, "Oh." Especially since I wasn't a good judge of relative difficulty with guns yet, so I didn't know that shooting a four-inch-ish grouping at the distance he'd used was already pretty damned impressive. 

"We'll come back here tomorrow, before and after hitting the gym." He was reloading the gun now, slipping bullets into the holes one after another—unlike the gun he'd given me, his weapon was a revolver, a really big-ass one. It was still just medium-sized for him, though. The one riding his other hip was bigger, and although it wasn't visible right now I knew he was carrying a third gun the size of the one he'd given me strapped to his calf. 

"Before _and_ after?" 

"You need to get some idea of how being tired messes with your judgement. _Before_ you get into a situation where it could mean your ass." 

I would have felt stupid saying "Oh" again, so I didn't. 

"I told you I can't afford to go easy on you," he continued. "Things could fall through at any time. I'm aiming to get you up to speed in the next couple of months, and that isn't a lot of fucking time to put you through basic training, the advanced course, _and_ commando school, even with an abridged curriculum that skips over a lot of equipment and procedures that aren't core. You're going to be spending a lot of time exhausted, bruised, battered, and sweaty." 

I wrinkled my nose, but I also said, "And I told you I knew this wasn't going to be easy. I'm going to do my best not to hold you back." 

"I figured you'd say something like that." His sudden grin was warm. He was—I thought he was—proud of me? "Let's pack up, then. We've got one more appointment, and after that, well . . . this may be the last night for a while where you'll be interested in doing anything with a bed but sleeping in it, and I don't want to waste it." He was leering now, but in a good-natured way. 

I reloaded my gun—an action that was starting to seem almost easy, now that I'd practiced around a dozen times—and reholstered it. I was getting used to the weight of it, too, now that I'd spent several hours lugging it around. 

The shooting range was in the fifth subbasement of the Syndicate's building, which wasn't so odd when you thought about it, so we didn't have far to tote our shopping bag. I tried not to blush when I looked at it, although it was plain grey with no indication of the contents. If it had only been the condoms, Gaav could have stuffed them in his pocket, but oh, no, he'd had to buy a _lot_ of lube, too. I knew it was to make things easier on me, but . . . oh, hell . . . I just had to look anywhere at all except at that damned bag. It was even more disturbing than what would be coming from our visit to the jeweler's on the second floor. Rings. Matching designs in different metals and stones, although I didn't know what the design actually was, only that his would be primarily gold and ruby, while mine would be platinum and sapphire. 

It was as though I could feel the weight of it on my hand. Commitment. Responsibility. And . . . lies. My fiance. How much of that was let's-pretend, and how much what we both really wanted? 

_We need more time._ Would the period from here to Cephiedmas be enough? It felt like the ground was shifting under my feet. 

A couple of months. I'd only known him a couple of months. We were barely lovers yet. But I couldn't stop myself from feeling this little shiver inside every time I looked at him, joy and lust and . . . love. 

What would my parents have thought if I'd brought him home? They hadn't lived long enough to see me discover my sexuality. I knew they wouldn't have been comfortable with that. And even if they had been, I doubted Gaav was the kind of partner they would have expected me to want. Not someone so dominant. And he was trained for violence. They would have hated that, too. That he was training _me_ for violence now too . . . _They probably would have disowned me._

"You look like you just found a dead puppy in your luggage," Gaav said as we stepped into the elevator. 

"I don't think I want to know how you know what that looks like." Although I would bet it had had something to do with Phibrizzo. "I was just thinking that my family would have liked you even less than most of yours likes me." 

My lover snorted. "A high-ranking Syndicate enforcer? They'd probably have crossed the street just so that they could avoid breathing any air I might have contaminated. No offense." 

"None taken. Although I think my brother would have come around eventually. My parents, probably not. I'm not sure about my sister." 

"So you were one of three." 

"The middle child," I said with something that was almost a smile. "Oldest boy, though." Faces flitted in front of my eyes for a moment, and I stuffed my hands in my pockets, pretending unconcern. "It's the stupidest things about them I miss, you know," I told the elevator's control panel. "Tripping over that damned toy fire engine my brother loved so much. The song my mother used to hum while she was making breakfast. Dad's collection of horrible ties." All gone now, although I hoped the ties had at least burned some Paladin's eye out before those bastards had torched the house. 

The control panel was polished metal, and I saw Gaav's reflection's eyebrows rise. "Horrible ties?" 

I forced a smile. "Yeah. His pride and joy was an orange and pink paisley . . . thing . . . that could kill a fashion consultant at twenty paces. I always preferred the one with the lime-green beavers." 

"Lime-green beavers. Fuck, where would you even _get_ something like that?" Gaav looked like he was both amazed and disturbed by the image. 

"The Internet, mostly. Before that, tourist traps and going-out-of-business sales. He never actually _wore_ them, mind you. My mom wouldn't let him." 

Gaav snorted, but he still had the oddest expression on his (reflected) face. "A normal family life." 

"Until it ended," I agreed. 

He took a step closer, and I felt the warmth of big, strong hands on my shoulders. "I can't promise you normal, but I can promise that I'll stay with you." 

I put my hand on top of his, saying nothing. The elevator dinged. The doors opened. 

"Oh, dear, I didn't know we were having a statue competition! Can I play too?" 

The figure standing in the forty-third-floor elevator lobby was a young man—a boy, really. Fifteen? Handsome in a rather delicate, fine-boned sort of way, with straight black hair. He was smiling, with his eyes squinted almost shut so that I couldn't see their colour, and he wore black jeans and a kind of loose, cream-coloured shirt with a patterned border. 

"You must be Xellos," Gaav said after a moment of silence. 

"And you must be my Uncle Gaav and my new Uncle Val," Xellos said, still smiling. "I didn't expect to meet you so soon. Oh, but we have met before, haven't we, Uncle Gaav? You used to come to Mother's apartment sometimes when I was very small. I'm afraid I don't remember very well, though." 

"I wouldn't have thought he was that easy to forget," I said. 

"Well, I _was_ at the age where all adults seemed huge," Xellos said easily. "Now, can I have the elevator? I've been waiting for it for a while." 

"Just don't take it home and try to turn it into a pet," I grumbled—the same kind of thing I would have said to my brother. I guess he must have been on my mind. 

Xellos erupted in a peal of laughter. "No, I hadn't been considering _that_! I don't think my mother would approve. By the way," he added as he stepped past us. "Great-Uncle Rezo seems awfully interested in you." He gave us a sidelong glance, and his eyes were open enough this time that I could identify their colour: purple. And cold, and hard. Like a pair of amethysts set into his face. 

"Rezo gets these weird ideas sometimes," Gaav said neutrally. 

"We'll see you around," I added. 

"Oh, I'm sure you will." His smile, which had initially struck me as goofy, seemed closer to sinister with his eyes open. 

Gaav and I strolled calmly towards his—our—apartment as the elevator doors slid closed behind us. My lover waited until the metal box had left the level before speaking again. 

"I think he's taking after Phibby, at least a little. Shit." 

"Does Zelas know?" 

Gaav shrugged. "How he's acting? Probably. How to raise a kid without him catching the family crazies? I doubt it. I mean, the closest thing any of us had to a positive role model was fucking _Rezo_." 

"Ugh," was all I could find to say. 

I felt relieved when the door to the apartment closed behind us and Gaav shot the extra deadbolt. It was as though he was locking out all the craziness of the day. Well, except the bag with the condoms and the six-pack of lube, but even that was starting to feel less disturbing and more . . . almost-sexy. Still, the stupid thing continued to weigh on my mind as he locked up our guns and showed me the combination to the lock-box. 

"I want a shower," I said. "I'm all sweaty, and not in a good way." 

Gaav chuckled. "Okay, go, then. I'll have a beer while I wait." The leer expressed clearly _why_ he'd be waiting. 

I swallowed as I stripped off my sweaty clothes and threw them at the laundry hamper in the corner of the bathroom. Gaav clearly wasn't going to be satisfied by just humping me this time, and I was nervous. I mean, what if I wasn't good enough for him? A handful of one-night stands didn't make me experienced, just not-a-virgin. My hand-jobs and blow-jobs were far from expert, and as for anal, I'd only done it twice, and I'd been on top both times. 

I wasn't going to be on top with him. Well, if he asked me to, of course, but I somehow couldn't see him doing that. No, I was going to be split open by that massive cock that had been rubbing against my back yesterday morning. The thought sent a shudder of fear and fascination and lust through me all at once, and I started getting hard. 

I didn't spend very long in the shower. I didn't dare. I was afraid I'd give in to the temptation to jerk off, and have nothing left for him. Nervous didn't mean I didn't want this. Oh, _fuck_ , I wanted this. Wanted him. 

I turned the water off and had a quick session with a fluffy, heated towel. When I was done, I wrapped the rectangle of cloth around my hips and left the bathroom. 

Gaav was sprawled on the couch in the main room of the apartment, with a beer bottle in one hand and a file—an actual paper file folder—braced against his knees. He closed it and set it aside the moment I walked into the room, though. His eyes raked over me, taking in every detail of my state of undress. 

I smirked and walked over to stand in front of him, planting my hands on my hips. "Like what you see?" I asked challengingly. 

" _Fuck, yes._ " His voice was a low, intense growl, and his gaze was heated enough that I was surprised his eyes weren't burning holes in me. 

"Good. Because I'd hate to think you were losing interest." As I spoke, I slowly unwound the towel from around my hips, always keeping part of it in front of my crotch. Teasing. I'd never set out to seduce someone before, not really, but I seemed to be succeeding beyond my wildest expectations, judging from the way Gaav licked his lips and set his beer aside with extreme care. 

"You're the most fucking gorgeous thing I've ever seen," he said . . . and then his arm darted out and he snatched the towel from my hands. I hadn't known he could reach quite that far. Or that fast. "And if you don't get your ass into that bedroom right now, I'm going to throw you on the floor and screw your brains out right in front of the window." 

"You'd have to catch me first." 

"Want to bet I _can't_?" he said in a deep, chesty growl. "Damn cocky little punk . . ." 

"You knew that when you picked me up," I pointed out. 

That nasty grin of his flashed across his face. "So I did," he said, and lunged up off the couch with startling speed. 

He caught me just outside the bedroom door, and pinned my arms to my sides. I writhed, fighting him, as he began to pepper my neck with nipping little kisses. 

"A guy your size should move slower," I groaned as he worked on making a neatly symmetrical pair of hickeys on either side of my adam's apple. 

He chuckled. "But then I'd never be able to catch you unless you let me do it." 

"More like I'd catch you." 

"Yeah, but there's no way you could hold onto me if you did." 

"Not unless you let me . . . and can we just get to the damned _bed_ already?" _Before I embarrass myself and come without you even touching me below the waist._

He kissed me full on the mouth, drowning me in the taste of him as he shifted his grip and picked me up. I fought him the entire four steps to the foot of the bed . . . but not all that hard, because I didn't really want him to drop me. My ass was going to be sore enough in the morning without me getting bruises all over it. 

He put me down among the blankets (carefully turned back, part of me noticed in passing) and knelt astride my thighs, pinning me. He still had all his clothes on . . . but somehow, that just made everything hotter. 

He began a slow, leisurely exploration of my torso while I frantically tried to hump up against him, to rub my cock against his body the way he'd done to me in the shower. He wouldn't let me, though, holding me pinned, not letting me go even when I thrashed against his grip and cursed in frustration. That just made him laugh. 

"I though you had a fantasy about being dominated," he said, that evil grin flashing. 

I groaned. "'S too much . . ." Little ripples of pleasure from every touch, combined with a molten desperation . . . 

"Does that mean you want me to stop?" 

" _Hell, no!_ Teasing bastard," I added. 

"Just getting even." His finger traced a wandering path down my stomach . . . swerved around my belly button . . . lower, and . . . he stopped. Just short of what I most wanted him to touch. I cursed him again, using phrases I'd learned while I was on the streets, and he laughed again. "Calm down, Val. Just a sec." He reached past me, and then pulled his hand back into view with a tube of lube looking tiny in his grip. 

I swallowed, hard. _This is it._

Gaav sat back on his heels. "Why so nervous?" 

I shrugged. "It's just that I've never, um, bottomed. Before." I could feel my face getting hot. "Just taken a finger, once or twice. I liked that, but you're a lot . . . bigger." 

"Fine, we'll take it slow, then." _But I'm not going to stop._ Implied, understood, and I didn't really want him to anyway. 

"If we go any slower, I'm going to explode," I muttered. Which got another chuckle from him. 

I drew my knees up to my chest to give him better access to my ass, and he cupped it in his hands for a moment, using his thumbs to spread me wide at the crack. Making me display myself for him. Just thinking about it made my cock twitch. 

He slicked his hand heavily before easing the first finger in, and although I bit my lip, the sensation drew a whine from me. He had big fingers, too, big enough that just one was enough to make me ache. And then he curled it inside me so that it rubbed firmly up against my prostate, which had never received more than a glancing touch from anyone before, and I almost came right there and then, but I fought madly for control until I managed to stop the oncoming eruption. 

I didn't want to come until he was inside me. It felt important, somehow. 

"You like that, do you?" 

_Yes_ , I tried to say, but it came out as more of a groan. 

"Ready for more?" 

The ache had pretty much faded, so I gave him a nod. Easier than trying to talk. 

The second finger hurt enough at first that my erection started to flag a little and my scrambled brain came back on-line. Well, enough for me to get a good look at the expression on Gaav's face, anyway. He was clearly concentrating, intent on my ass. This time, when I bit my lip, it was to keep from laughing. Then he started working on my prostate again, and I lost my ability to think once more. 

The third finger turned me into a puddle. The ache didn't seem to matter anymore, or maybe my body was adjusting. Or my brain was melting, one or the other. 

"G-gaav . . ." 

He pulled his hand out of me, ignoring my disappointed whine and the attempt at pushing down on him again. Instead, he produced a very large condom, still sealed in its package, that he must have grabbed when he'd reached for the lube, and pressed it into my hand. "I want you to put this on me." 

I swallowed. Nodded. Heard the rasp of a zipper. 

His cock had looked plenty big when I'd seen it in the bathroom. It felt even bigger against the palm of my hand, and as I unrolled the condom over the sensitive skin, I understood why he had to go to a specialty shop to buy them: a normal condom might stretch to accommodate his girth—just—but there was no way it would be long enough to go all the way down to the base of that massive erection. 

I was going to be a tight fit for him too . . . _No, don't think about that,_ I told myself. I almost wished, for the first time in my life, that I was a size queen. Then maybe I would be too turned on to think, instead of this weird mix of sexy-needing and scared. I had to admit that handling his erection hadn't made mine go down at all, though. He had a gorgeous cock, it was just . . . really big. 

"Want to eat it instead?" 

I licked my lips. "Maybe next time." 

He chuckled. "All right, then. Lie back." 

I laid. He knelt between my legs, coated the condom with more lube, and aimed carefully. For a moment, I didn't think he was going to be able to get inside despite all the careful stretching he'd done, but he held my hips firmly and there was a flash of pain and I could feel the head of his cock pop through and settle inside me. And he didn't stop there. He pressed forward, slowly and steadily, until he was rubbing over my prostate, making me moan and wrap my legs around his waist to try to pull him in harder. 

_More. I want more._

He pushed in deeper, and deeper still, past the furthest point his fingers had been able to reach, and I would have sworn I was actually starting to _like_ the ache as he forced my body to stretch for him. 

His hand found my cock, curling around it as he bottomed out inside me with his balls brushing my ass, and as he withdrew partway and then pushed in again, he stroked me in time with his movements. Meanwhile, he was hitting my prostate squarely with every thrust of his hips. Making me writhe under him as those sharp blue eyes laid my soul bare . . . and if there was anything left, any last thread of will that kept me from belonging only to him, I'm pretty sure that's when it snapped. 

"Gaav," I whispered. " _Gaav._ Oh, fuuuuck. 'M gonna . . ." I could feel my balls getting heavier, hot and throbbing like my cock and I knew I was at the end of my endurance. 

"It's fine, Val. Come for me." And his fingers twisted just so around my erection. 

I screamed as I let go. I felt like I was falling into those sea-blue eyes of his, down into the depths of the ocean to swim with the monsters, but the water was warm, caressing me as I shook with convulsions of pleasure. And somewhere in all that, I think I remember a deep grunt and a really hard thrust as he came too. 

He was looking very smug as I floated back up to complete awareness. "I thought for a moment there that you'd fainted." 

I punched him in the arm, although there wasn't any force in it. "Like hell I did! Although . . . I wouldn't mind doing this again sometime." 

"You'd better not mind, 'cause I promised myself I wouldn't be doing that celibacy shit again." 

"Guess we're in agreement, then." And we both smiled at each other. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

He's a natural, and I don't mean at sex . . . although he's pretty fucking good at that too, hot and tight and capable of taking me all the way to the root. I can't wait until I can do him without the fucking condom. 

But no, I mean he's a natural with a gun in his hands. We'll find out tomorrow whether he's as good at hand-to-hand, but from the way he moves, I doubt he's going to be difficult to train. He'd have been wasted as a pacifist. 

He's like a gift from Ceiphied, the perfect partner I never dared want, and . . . well, can I help it if I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop? Something has to go wrong, doesn't it? I'm a fucking _monster_. I don't deserve someone like him. 

. . . I guess that means I do believe in cosmic justice, if not in the Flare Dragon. At some level, anyway. What a pain in the ass. 

I've read everything I could find on the Paladins, so that I could give Dolly the right pointers on where to start the real research. I'm hoping there's some kind of factionalism inside that we can use as a lever, but there's no way they'd let that kind of shit leak into official documents where just anyone can see it. Next, I get to read up on Anahar. In between training Val and pretending not to understand that Dad wants me to take over my branch sooner rather than later and all the rest of that fucking nonsense. If not for Val, I'd say right now that I was happier as a priest.


	15. Chapter 15

"That's some bruise," the young woman in the lab coat said as she swabbed a chunk of my arm with a hospital-smelling wipe. I wasn't sure whether she was a doctor, a nurse, or just a lab tech trying to make herself look important. No, surely not a full doctor—she couldn't be much older than me. 

"Unarmed combat training." _Brutal_ unarmed combat training, during which I hadn't landed a single punch or kick. Gaav, it turned out, was a black belt in two different martial arts, neither of which I'd ever heard of before, and just ridiculously fast for such a big guy, as I'd discovered last night. I had a long road ahead of me before I was good enough to keep up with him. And we'd done hour-long sessions at the firing range before and after he'd spent most of the day battering me into the mats. Tomorrow was supposed to be split between the firing range, hand-to-hand in the gym, and survival training. Oh, and I had a half-hour of etiquette training every evening. Gaav had been right when he'd said I was going to be too tired to think about sex for a while. Even without the side effects of whatever this woman was about to shoot me up with. 

I told myself I wasn't nervous as I watched her fill the needle with something clear and yellow from a small bottle. It might have been horse piss for all I knew, although at least it wasn't purple. I was going to get two doses of this one, which was supposed to strengthen my skin somehow so that I wouldn't be driving my bones straight through it when they started improving my muscles. That stage would involve nearly a month's worth of daily shots. 

I wasn't looking forward to it. 

"It isn't going to bite you," the nurse or lab tech or whatever she was said. 

I shook my head. "Just thinking that those guys in the comic books have it easier. One wave of cosmic radiation or vial of secret potion or something, and pow!—they can juggle skyscrapers. They don't have to go through all this crap just for a thirty-percent tune-up." 

The woman laughed. "It would be a lot simpler, wouldn't it? Unfortunately, this is the real world, where we're limited to what's scientifically possible. Which means we do this one tissue at a time, and very carefully." 

"Yeah—if we did it the quick way, then with my luck, I'd get the bottle that would turn me into a mass of elastic goo and have to become a supervillain instead." 

That made her laugh even harder. "You don't really strike me as the mass-of-goo type." 

"Is anybody?" 

"A friend of mine who's majoring in psychology would probably love that question," she said, mock-seriously. "I could introduce you . . ." 

"Don't think so. Even if I had the time, my boyfriend probably wouldn't approve." 

A theatrical sigh. "Damn. As usual, all the good ones are taken or gay. Or both." She brought the needle around, and I gritted my teeth—stupid, I know, when the blows I'd taken in training that day had been far more painful, but it's the _deliberateness_ of needles that gets me. And, this time at least, the sight of the plunger being depressed and the knowledge that meant that yellow crap was going _into my body_. "And there you go. You may feel a bit of tingling and numbness, especially in your toes, but if you get really itchy or start to welt up, that's an allergic reaction and you should call someone before it gets any worse. At least you won't need any painkillers or anti-nausea." 

"This time," I said wryly. 

"This time," she agreed. "I'll probably see you tomorrow, then." 

"Yeah." I knew a dismissal when I heard one, so I got up and headed for the elevator. 

I paid careful attention to what I was doing as I entered Gaav's apartment, because the routine was still new to me. I opened the lock box, removed my gun from the holster (I was wearing it in plain view just then, since I hadn't been going to leave the building), and set it in its place beside Gaav's two pistols. Then I locked the box again. Only after that could I relax and go find my lover. 

He was in the armoury section of the main room, dividing his attention between that tablet of his and a dissected pistol. He looked up as I approached him, and gave me that familiar nasty grin. 

"I hope they didn't traumatize you too much down in Research, because we're having supper with Zelas and Dolphin." 

I rolled my eyes. "Great. And . . . Xellos?" 

"Out for the evening, even if Zelas has to kick him out. This is business, not pleasure." 

"What kind of business?" 

"We've all been researching the Paladins of Gold and the government of Anahar separately. Now it's time to combine that information." 

I blinked. "Really?" 

"You thought I'd forget?" 

"No, but I expected it to take longer." 

"This is just a preliminary meeting, Val, to see which lines of inquiry we want to move forward with. We're likely to have some questions for you, too, and they're not going to be pleasant ones, so prepare yourself." His smile faded as he spoke those words. 

"I don't care if you drag me backwards through hell, if it means those bastards get what they deserve," I said. Willing it to be true. Willing myself to be strong. "I'll deal with any unpleasantness you can throw at me, if it gets me what I want." 

"I'm not going to question your strength of purpose. I mean, fuck, you've already bounced back from Phibby trying to use you as a lab rat, which is more of a test than I would have put you through. I just didn't want to blindside you." 

"If you do, I'll handle it," I told him. Just so that I could see the flare of pride in his eyes. 

He shook his head. "I don't deserve you, you know. I should be on the shit-list of every god there is. Which just goes to prove that there aren't any, I guess." 

"I don't know how I ever mistook you for a priest." I offered him a crooked grin. 

He raised one bushy eyebrow. "You tell me. I figure it was probably the collar tabs, but I could be wrong." 

I snorted. "Why the hell did you patch me up that night, anyway? Somehow I don't just think it was because you thought I had a nice ass." 

"I didn't even get a proper look at your ass until the next morning. I . . . recognized something of myself in you, I guess. Full of fire. And very alone." He looked down at his hands, his expression reflective. "I never thought I was going to fall for you so hard. Or so fast. Talk about being blindsided. Now. Go change. Your etiquette lesson tonight's going to be over dinner. I told Zelas to haul out the snail tongs and a few other interesting bits and pieces." 

I wrinkled my nose. "Snails. Ugh." 

"They're pretty good, actually—just try not to think about what you're eating. Really, that goes for a lot of what they serve at fancy parties." 

Snails, it turned out, taste like garlic butter. I somehow managed not to get any of that on my shirt—my new, fancy, silk shirt that had probably cost an arm and a leg and that I was pretending not to feel uncomfortable in. _Fake it until you make it,_ I told myself. Gaav and his sisters ate their snails with casual ease that I was a long way from being able to imitate. If I hadn't seen him working on his guns—and felt him working on my body—I would have been surprised that someone with hands the size of Gaav's could be so deft. 

The theme for dinner seemed to be things-in-shells, because the snails were followed with shellfish (and a lesson in the correct use of lobster picks), then a fruit-and-custard dessert wrapped in flaky pastry. It was all of excellent quality, but by then I'd started to expect that, since I'd found out there were no less than five four-star restaurants in the building, each serving different specialties and ethnic cuisine. The wine paired with it all was probably good-quality too, but I think it was the kind you can only appreciate if you really understand wine, because it wasn't to my taste. Not sweet enough. Anyway, I would have preferred tea, but that wasn't on offer until after the meal. 

There was no business conversation while we ate, just crap about the weather and other neutral topics like that. I didn't complain, because I had a feeling it was part of my lesson. Instead, I did my best to play along, and did a good enough job that no one ever bothered to correct me about anything. 

It was only after we'd taken our coffee and tea into Zelas' living room—far more carefully decorated than Gaav's little TV nook—that the business part of the evening started. 

"So," my lover said, plunking down beside me on a cream-coloured sofa and slinging an arm possessively across my shoulders. "The official records make it look like the government of Anahar's changed hands a couple of times since Val had to leave the country, but even just reading the general files is enough that you can tell it's only skin deep. Corrupt as hell, and huge bribes getting passed around—you can tell by some of the shit they've been buying and building." 

I nodded. "That's what the clan's Elders always pretty much said was going on. They paid out a good-sized bribe to have them leave us alone." 

Gaav grimaced. "Well, judging from what I found, someone outbid them. I don't know who yet." 

"The Paladins," Dolphin said. 

"Oh?" A bushy red eyebrow rose. 

"It's the money," the blue-haired woman explained. "There were a lot of big payments going out of their master account, and they talked about some of them a lot but tried to cover up the others. So I followed the ones they weren't talking about, and some of them were going to Anahar." 

"What about the others?" Zelas asked. 

"Well, some was coming to us—to the Organization directly, and smaller individual payments to Phibrizzo and Dynast. A lot to politicians, in at least thirty different countries. Some to numbered accounts at the First Bank of Zephilia. Those could be dangerous to try to crack open, so I thought I'd let someone else make that call. And they make a fairly large donation every month to the Church of Ceiphied Charitable Works Fund. I don't understand why they don't talk about that one, but they don't." 

I blinked. "The Paladins are paying into an _Old Rite_ charitable fund?" 

"But is it a bribe—and if so, for what?—or does someone have a guilty conscience?" Zelas said, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "If it's the latter, we might be able to exploit it." 

"I'd be wondering how Phibby and Dyn were involved, but neither of those two cares much where they get money from," Gaav rumbled. "Phibby, especially, can always think of one more experiment he could do if he had a little more cash. I'd call them whores, but I've known a few real whores, and they were always as selective about their clients as their circumstances allowed—for their safety, if nothing else. The Paladins weren't paying anything direct to Rezo?" 

Dolphin shook her head. "Not anything of any size, not from that account. I can investigate the small transactions and auxilliary accounts, but it's going to take a few days." 

Gaav grunted. "Start with the other accounts. Keep in mind that the money might be going to Rezo's Church-sanctioned funds and not his Syndicate ones. Fuck, I hate this twisty shit." 

Zelas chuckled, a low, throaty sound. "Still, you're pretty good at it, Gaavvie. It is good to have you back, you know. Just in case I haven't said it yet." 

"I can't say that it's good to _be_ back," Gaav grumbled. 

"Oh, come, now, you can't seriously mean you want to spend the rest of your life as a fake priest!" The blonde woman took a sip from her teacup. 

"Nah, I admit that was getting pretty confining." 

"So what would you do, then? If you didn't have to worry about the Syndicate or any of the rest of it, where would you go?" 

"Fucked if I know. Val and I would have to talk it over, find something that would work for both of us." 

Zelas blinked slowly. Then she half-smiled and shook her head. "Someone else's needs or desires . . . are the last thing I would have considered, unless stringing them along were one of _my_ desires. I suppose that's the difference between a real and a fake relationship." 

"I think I'd be happy wherever you are," I said, looking up at my lover. "Of course, that might be different when we're past the honeymoon and I start getting ticked off with your snoring or something." 

Gaav shook his head. "Don't invest yourself too deeply in me, Val. If something happens—" 

"Not this time!" I snapped, and then repeated it. "Not this time. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I'm not a helpless little kid anymore, and I'm not going to let _anyone_ steal you from me the way they stole my family!" 

"Val . . ." 

"Don't tell me you wanted some weak little fainting queen. Because if so, you'd better find yourself another fi-an-cé." I drew the word out deliberately, still glaring at him. 

"Never. You're _perfect_." His sudden smile was . . . almost goofy. 

It was only the way his two sisters were looking at me that kept me from kissing him. I did lean into him a bit, though, and interlace our hands. He squeezed my fingers, and then deliberately turned his attention on something else. 

"Zelas, did you find anything useful?" 

The blonde woman cocked her head to one side. "I'm not sure how we can use it, but one of my contacts turned up something interesting about the relationship between the Paladins and Anahar." 

"Like what?" I asked. 

"Money laundering. Of a sort." 

"You're shitting us," Gaav rumbled. 

His sister chuckled. "Oh, not hardly. The Paladins are selling their surplus arms to Anahar, and the government there is turning around and reselling them at a nice profit. I don't know what kind of kickback the Paladins are getting, but I'd bet it's a pretty good size." 

"Are the sales official, or is this just some mid-level asshole trying to feather his nest?" 

"Their top leadership is involved, but I don't know about it being official. I'll see if I can find out." 

I was starting to see a picture in my mind's eye. And I didn't like it. I said as much to Gaav as we were preparing for bed. 

"So what does it look like to you?" he asked as he sat on the edge of the bed, brushing out his hair. 

I grimaced. "I think the word is 'theocide'. Or if that isn't a word, it should be." 

He hesitated for just a second before resuming the smooth brushing motion. "You might be right, at that. The money could be backing—or simple bribes—for politicians bringing in anti-Old-Rite legislation. Or pro-Reform, which amounts to the same thing. Fuck." 

I wasn't stupid enough to need to ask how that was worse than thinking the Paladins were corrupt. You can talk to corrupt, either to convince it or just to mess with it. Sometimes you can even bribe corrupt to act against its own best interests. You can't bribe religious fanatics, though, and trying to talk to them usually just gets you lectured at. 

"Do you think it's all of them?" I asked instead. 

He grimaced. "I hope not. It makes it that much more difficult to get them to fall apart. The last time I landed in a nest of religious fanatics . . . let's just say there were a lot of bodies before we got done. On both sides. One of those stupid fights where nobody really wins." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

And here I thought I was done with the religious shit. This is almost enough to make me think there _is_ a Flare Dragon, and he's got it in for me. Fuck. 

Truth is, I don't really _care_ if the Reform Church stamps out the Old Rite. It's all bullshit as far as I'm concerned. Let them play their stupid-ass games . . . But whenever I tell myself that, I also find myself remembering the faces of people it _does_ mean something to. The colour-blind old lady who gave me that fucking awful blanket. The ones whose kids I christened, or who helped clean the church and the manse, or who just . . . pitched in when something was needed. It was all important to them, and I'd be lying if I said _they_ didn't matter to me. Just a little. 

. . . I wonder if it matters to him. Even if he doesn't believe, the Old Rite church was woven into his people's culture, from what I understand. If it's destroyed, it'll take another bit, one of the last little tiny bits, of his people away. And it isn't like he has a hell of a lot left. Fuck, I'm not sure he even has a family photograph. If he didn't have one on him when the shit started hitting the fan, I don't think he would have had time to pick one up. 

The pendant I'm wearing around my neck might really be the last thing he has from his home. I should give it back, but something always makes me hesitate. Like I'd be giving up a piece of him. Maybe after we have the rings, it'll be easier. Funny, I never used to care about this binding-symbolism shit, but with him it feels important. 

If I give him everything I've got and make his wishes come true, is that going to be enough? I don't know. I really don't know.


	16. Chapter 16

I blinked several times. "So _that's_ why you needed to find a machine shop." 

"Pretty much. You know my policy: I never carry fake weapons, even if they're weapons I'm probably never going to use." Gaav shrugged his shoulders, drawing attention to the sword hilt riding above the left one. 

We were dressing for the end-of-October costume ball this evening, which we had no choice about attending. The invitations pointedly signed by Lei Magnus himself had made that clear. 

Gaav had assembled himself an impressive barbarian warlord costume: leather trousers and boots, a vest that was probably made of real leopard-skin, some massive gold arm-rings that drew attention to his biceps, a metal collar a good inch wide, and of course, the five-foot-long sword and the harness that kept it on his back. I was of two minds about the outfit. On the one hand, it suited him well and showed off his chest quite nicely. On the other, it _did_ show off his chest, and we weren't exactly going to be in private. 

I'd found myself getting very possessive of my red-haired lover as October pushed its way towards November. If I'd ever caught him flirting with someone else, I think I might have done something stupid. But no, he'd been faithful, even though I'd mostly been too tired and too sore for sex. A few quick hand-jobs in the shower of a morning had been the most I could handle. 

"You going to finish changing?" he asked now, trading his usual black-enamel hair-clasp for a much gaudier golden one. 

I scowled. "I can't pull this crap off nearly as well as you can. I'm going to look like an idiot." 

"No, you won't. Trust me." 

It was a pair costume, you see. Well, kind of. Barbarian warlord and his second-in-command, or something like that. My vest was of grey wolf fur, my arm rings weren't nearly as impressive, and instead of a humongous sword, I had a spear. We'd even done a couple of training sessions with them, so I couldn't say it was a completely unfamiliar weapon, and the haft rested comfortably enough in my hand, but I still felt awfully silly. I put the arm rings on, and then the tooled leather bracers that were to cover my forearms—where he'd found all this crap was beyond me. 

"Look," Gaav encouraged, gesturing toward the full-length mirror set into the wall at a strategic angle that reflected the interior of the closet back toward the entry door. 

I bit back _Do I have to?_ and forced myself to turn around. 

Well. 

Okay, that wasn't quite as bad as I'd expected. Nice to see that the shit the guys in the lab coats had been filling me with for more than two weeks now was having some effect besides making me sick to my stomach. I wasn't hopelessly skinny anymore. Still probably too thin, but I had enough flesh now that all my bones were properly covered and I was even starting to develop some nice muscles of my own, under the bruises and the scars. Exercise alone wouldn't have built me up this quickly, I knew. It had to be the drugs helping it along. 

"It needs something," I said, stroking my chin. Hadn't I seen . . . ? Yeah, there it was: a brown marker, mixed in with the junk on Gaav's bedside table. I picked it up and carefully drew two stripes on each of my cheeks. 

"That's going to take a week to wear off, you realize," my lover said amusedly from behind me. 

I shrugged. "Week, schmeek." I turned my head from side to side and decided I liked the effect. 

The man in the mirror was still me, but a different me. He really did look like some kind of primitive tribal warrior, with a strong, lean body and burning eyes. 

There was a soft chuckle, and strong arms wrapped around me from behind. "Well, it's your body. Think you're ready to go?" 

"I suppose. You know, I never did ask you—what did you end up deciding you wanted our costumes to tell people?" I'd half-forgotten the conversation we'd had on the way to have me fitted for the tux I hadn't yet worn. 

He nuzzled my ear. "I guess you could say it's a general 'fuck off' to anyone who cares to look. A warning that I'm my own man now, and not under anyone's control. Of course, the people that would actually _matter_ to'll probably just roll their eyes and say something along the lines of, 'That idiot Gaav.' Which is fine. The more they underestimate me, the dumber _they're_ going to look when we take them out." 

"I wish you didn't have to hide what you are," I said. "You're an incredible guy, and I'd like the whole world to know it." 

Gaav snorted, although he also looked . . . pleased. "Glad you think so, but I'd rather hide my lamp under a bush until I _need_ people to see it. Less pressure that way." He leered. "And buttering me up is a good way to make us both late, 'cause I know for a fact that you haven't done anything more physical today than some weight lifting and a few laps of the track. So you shouldn't be too sore, for once." 

"Can we afford to piss off your dad, though?" 

"Right now, I'm not sure I care . . . but probably not. Too bad. Tonight, though . . ." His hand slipped down to rest on the front of my thigh, close enough to my crotch that I almost felt the warmth of his skin against my cock through the soft leather. "Tonight, I'm not going to let you wriggle out of things." 

"Tonight, I'm not going to want to," I said, meeting the eyes of his reflection and willing him to understand just how _much_ I didn't want to. I was also trying to will my budding erection down, and not having much success. Mind you, he had one too. I could feel the lump rubbing against my back. "We'd better get moving before neither of us can walk," I added, and he laughed. 

"Fine, then, let's go." 

Before we left the apartment, we both clipped small pistols to the backs of our belts, where they'd be hidden under our vests. I wasn't sure how quickly I'd be able to grab mine from that position, since it wasn't something I'd practiced, but hopefully we wouldn't need them tonight. 

If we did, it would mean that something had gone very wrong. 

The ball was being held in the building, of course, in the ballroom on the thirty-third floor. That building had pretty much everything, except for a really good tailor. Well, okay, it also didn't have a burger joint. Or a sex shop. Too down-market, I guess. 

When we got out of the elevator, a lot of people stopped talking and turned to stare at us. I forced myself to keep my chin up and step out boldly, not letting it rattle me. 

Gaav delivered a few calm stares of his own—to a woman in a devil costume, to a man wearing a hat piled high with plastic fruit, a loud skirt, and a very bad set of falsies, and to Phibrizzo, who was wearing an archaic boy's school uniform complete with suspenders and short pants—and the conversation mostly resumed. Phibrizzo grinned as he turned away, though. I didn't like that, but if Gaav noticed, he showed no sign of it. 

"Gaavvie!" Zelas emerged from the throng dressed as a tennis player, complete with racket. "And Val," she added, flashing her smile at me. "Have you two decided who you're inviting to the engagement party yet?" 

I swallowed. Just a couple of weeks to go, and I'd have some official hold on my big red-headed lover. It was scary. Really scary. Partly because, even though I knew it was as much part of the act as anything, I couldn't make myself believe it was fake. I think part of me didn't _want_ it to be fake. The other part was trying very hard not to run around in little circles making "Eep!" noises. 

"Don't worry," Gaav said. "I'd never forget my favourite sister. Unfortunately, while I'd invite you and Dolly anyway, I'm stuck with Dynast and Dad and Phibby. And Uncle Rezo, of course. I'm having them make up a card for Uncle Luke, too, although I've got no i-fucking-dea where to send it." 

Zelas shook her head. "Even Dolly and I have never been able to find him. It's like he's disappeared off the face of the planet." Then she turned to me. "What about you, Val—are you inviting anyone?" 

I shrugged. "Like who? I don't have any family left, or really close friends." Although the images of a certain idiot pair, one big and bald, one short with orange hair, did pop into my head for a moment. But they were in Seyruun, and I had no idea how to explain all this to them anyway. 

"That's no good," my, er, future sister-in-law said. "If you think of anyone, just tell me and I'll make the arrangements. No questions asked." And she flashed me that smile again. It popped into my head that she probably didn't know that our engagement was . . . only half-sincere, something that we were pushing into before we were really sure. 

"Thanks," I said. "I mean it. Um, about your Uncle Luke . . . have you ever tried tracking the girl he ran away with?" 

Zelas blinked at me several times. Then she started to laugh. "Blind spots," she said through the giggles. "It never even occurred to me that they might still be together. I suppose it takes a normal person to think of that angle. Thank you, Val." 

_I'm hardly normal._ I didn't say it, though. I'd had a few years of a normal life, which was more than Zelas had ever had. 

We excused ourselves, and my lover plowed his way through the crowd to the refreshments table. A few people greeted him along the way, and he returned some while ignoring others. 

_We need to put in about an hour,_ he'd told me. _Try not to say anything of substance to anyone, and especially don't get sloshed. Oh, and don't take food or drink from a server, or from any tray, bottle, or bowl on the table you haven't seen at least two other people eat or drink from. Poisonings aren't frequent, but I had to hush a pretty fucking spectacular one up the year before I . . . left. Half the people in the room are our enemies, and_ which _half it is can shift from moment to moment._

So I took the time to figure out which wine was popular before I reached out and filled a glass from a half-empty bottle, and then drifted along the edge of the room, sipping. Gaav was really the one who had to put in an appearance here—I'd just tagged along because my absence would have looked . . . odd, and hardly anyone was paying any attention to me. Which didn't mean I wasn't paying attention to them. I doubted I'd overhear anything interesting, but you never knew. 

"Look, all I promised to do was get you in." A low voice, vaguely familiar from somewhere. If my ears had been more mobile, they would have pricked up. "I _didn't_ promise to help you talk to anyone in particular, and I _especially_ didn't promise to help you get your partner out of the kitchens if that's where the caterers decided to stick him. I'm in enough trouble with my grandfather as it is, just for telling him I knew about this place and these people. _And_ I'm stuck in this stupid bunny costume, no thanks to you." 

"You think a pink pony costume is much better? I can barely hold a glass, and if something goes wrong, I'm in big trouble!" A woman, sharp-voiced, unfamiliar. I started to drift along the wall in the direction the voices were coming from. 

"I didn't ask you to find these . . . things. Or to make me wear one! If something goes wrong, you're on your own." 

"Look, Zel—" 

"No, _you_ look, Lina! I'm _already_ in all kinds of trouble because of you! This is worse than high school." 

"Eheheh . . ." 

Now that I was close enough, it didn't take much effort to spot them: two shortish figures in bulky costumes of the kind you normally saw only at theme parks. The rabbit costume was white, which just made the complexion of the wearer look odder. 

"You two _do_ realize that I could hear you from ten feet away, right?" I said as I came to a stop beside them. 

"I can't help it if the acoustics in here suck," the woman in the pony costume—Lina?—said, giving me a challenging glare. Her eyes were almost as red as Gaav's hair. Her own hair, an untidy whisp of which stuck out of the costume near her left temple, was several shades lighter, more fire-coloured than blood-coloured. It seemed to match her temper. 

I shrugged. "Well, I really don't care very much if you want everyone else here to mind your business for you, but you might end up getting a bit uncomfortable if security realizes that one of you isn't supposed to be here. Actually, I'm surprised to see _either_ of you here—I thought Rezo was trying to keep you away from this side of the family." 

Zelgadis Greywords scowled and pushed a floppy rabbit ear away from his face. "He was. Is. And he's been incredibly stubborn about telling me why. And just how did you know I had anything to do with Rezo, and where have I seen you before?" 

"We met in passing once in Seyruun," I said, which was true enough. "Although I don't think we were ever introduced. As for Rezo, one of your . . . cousins, I suppose, recognized you and told me who you were. The information embargo only went in one direction. I'm more curious about what you two idiots think you're doing, and what's this about someone being in the kitchens? You aren't trying to poison anyone, are you?" 

"P- _poison_?!" the girl stuttered, with an outraged expression. 

"Did you really think that was likely?" Zelgadis asked, more calmly. 

"It's happened here at least once that I know of," I said grimly. "About eight years ago. I was advised strongly to be careful of what I ate and drank. So if security catches people doing things that they shouldn't, the consequences might be . . . nasty." 

"I can't believe this!" Lina said. "I mean, fine, okay, I knew there were some pretty high-level people here—that's why I wanted to come, so that I could maybe shake a tidbit or two loose for my next article! I wasn't expecting I'd be risking my life just for a little information. I can't become a great journalist if I die here!" 

Zelgadis smacked his face with his palm and shook his head. "Lina, you're just a journalism _student_ , and barely that. And you're the one who insisted in coming all the way out to Wolf Pack Island just to chase some rumour . . ." 

And she'd somehow managed to "insist" him right into a rabbit suit, which he clearly wasn't happy about. I forced myself not to smirk. 

"We never introduced ourselves properly, by the way," the girl said, ignoring her friend. I was sure he _was_ just a friend, and not a boyfriend. They didn't have that kind of chemistry. "I'm Lina Inverse, and this is Zelgadis Greywords." 

"Val Agares," I said. I didn't offer either of them my hand, and neither of them held out theirs. 

"Val . . ." Zelgadis muttered, frowning, then shook his head. "I guess you really didn't make an impression on me when we met in Seyruun, because I just don't remember." 

"That's okay. What kind of rumour was so interesting you had to pester someone into bringing you here?" I asked Lina. 

She grinned broadly. "The Ruby-Eye Syndicate, of course! Their headquarters are supposed to be here on Wolf Pack, and there aren't a lot of candidates, so I thought I could work my way through them and find—" 

I gave her a cold look. "And when you do find them, what are you going to do? Walk right into their security people and let them string you up by your thumbs?" 

"Oh, I came prepared, just in case." She slid a hand into the hood of her costume and pulled out . . . _that's a fucking grenade!_ A teeny little one, but Gaav had shown me the mini-grenades issued to Syndicate security for some types of operations, and he'd set one off, for my education. 

It had only made a teeny little crater, two or three feet, but that was enough. That was more than enough. 

The security people were easy enough to spot—in honour of the night, they'd decked themselves out in the uniforms of various historical armies, navies, and marine corps, but they still stood off to the sides, sinisterly holding up walls while wearing headsets. I glanced left and right, trying to look casual while I made sure that no one was looking at us. 

"Are you insane?" I snapped once I was sure no one was watching. "Put that away before someone shoots you!" 

"Okay, okay—what are you so worried about, anyway?" 

_A stupid little innocent getting her brains splattered all over the floor._ "Having to explain to the people in charge what I was doing talking with a terrorist—and then having to explain to my boyfriend why I had to explain. At this rate, I'm going to end up sleeping on the floor for a week." 

"You're serious," Lina said, tucking the mini-grenade back down her front. Zelgadis hid his face in his hand again. "Is your boyfriend the big guy you came in with?" she asked, and Zelgadis jerked. "Zel, are you okay?" 

"I think my brain just exploded." 

"Wha—" 

The young man took his face out of his hand, squared his shoulders, looked at me, and said, "Did I _really_ meet your, uh, boyfriend, in an Old Rite church in Seyruun? And you, too—you were the guy sitting beside me that day, weren't you?" 

I offered him a crooked smile. "What do you think?" 

"That I really don't know how he ever managed to convince me he was a priest." 

I shrugged. "He's smarter than most people give him credit for." 

Zelgadis still looked like someone had hit him in the head with a hammer. "I think I need to sit down." 

He never got the chance, because _something_ came bursting in through the back of the room. It looked like a sawed-off version of one of the giant robots in the cartoons I'd watched with great interest when I was about six. 

" _Rezo!_ " a shrill voice yelled loudly from inside the thing. "I want to talk to you, Rezo!" 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

Trust Val to somehow manage to latch onto the most suspicious-looking group in the room. I felt something like a fucking ice cube slide down my spine when that girl pulled out a mini-grenade, and if it hadn't looked more like show-and-tell than a hostage situation, I would have had eight security people on her before she could put it away again. 

We're not going to get far if I don't trust him, or at least that's what I told myself. Am still telling myself. What am I training him for, if it isn't to handle crap like that? But that fucking ice-cube feeling . . . I've never had it before, and I hate it.


	17. Chapter 17

When the oversized robot came plunging in through the wall, almost everyone froze for a moment. Including me, but I shook it off in the next second when the security people raised their weapons and grabbed for the gun on the back of my belt. My hand was so sweaty I almost fumbled it. 

There was a thump, and a metallic chime ran through the room: Rezo's staff. He'd chosen a costume that would allow him to carry it, dressing as a mendicant monk from an earlier century, with ragged robes, a begging bowl, and a wide straw hat that had to hide his face completely from the robot's point of view. 

"I am here," the Red Priest said, not shouting, but sounding pretty loud anyway. "May I ask who you are?" He tilted his head back—I guess whatever kind of echolocation crap he did with the staff had told him there was something really big in front of him. The girl who had been with him when we'd first met in the boardroom was standing beside him, and she was probably glad he couldn't see, because she was dressed like something from a leather fetish video. Weird choice for a shrine maiden, or whatever she was. 

"Posel Korba Taforashia! Don't tell me that you've forgotten me!" 

"Taforashia," Rezo repeated, brows knitting together in a frown for a moment. "Surely not the young man I met in the Costal States Alliance." 

If that was a man's voice coming out of that robot-armour-thing, I'd eat Rezo's staff. Well, maybe he hadn't been able to tell the difference, since he couldn't see the voice's owner. 

"The guy you sold out," came the reply, and I probably wasn't the only one there thinking, _so that's what this is about_. 

"I don't understand. If I recall correctly, I only introduced you to—" 

"To the Supreme Elder of the Paladins of Gold," Posel Taforashia said, and I froze, because that was just about the _last_ person I'd expected to hear about in this conversation. "Who stole my work!" 

"There must be some misunderstanding." Rezo remained calm, his voice even, his hands steady on his staff. 

"Bullshit!" the voice from the robot shouted. "They've been using my designs without giving me any money or any credit! Even worse, they've been _selling_ them to people who . . . who . . ." Posel's voice trailed off, and I recognized from his(?) tone a pain too deep to reveal to a roomful of strangers. 

Rezo sighed. "Unfortunately, the Paladins are as human as any of the rest of us, and they are presented with temptations larger than many. It is certainly possible that one of them has stolen your work and sold it to . . . individuals of questionable morality. I will speak to the Supreme Elder and see that an investigation is made." He struck his staff on the floor again, as though to indicate that the audience was closed. Never mind that there was still a fucking giant _robot_ taking up most of one corner of the ballroom. 

"You're not listening!" Posel snapped. "The Supreme Elder _knows_!" 

"I find that difficult to believe," the Red Priest said, raising his eyebrows. 

"Then I'll just have to _make_ you believe!" 

The robot began to move. It dropped down on all fours and two flaps flipped open on its shoulders, revealing . . . rocket launchers?! _Oh, shit!_ I dove for cover behind a decorative column and a selection of potted plants, not that I expected those to do much good, and hauled Lina and Zelgadis down with me. Several shots rang out from different corners of the room, but the bullets just bounced off the robot's metal plating. One of the ricochets hit a woman who'd been serving drinks, and she screamed as blood flowered on her fancy maid outfit. 

That unfroze everyone, unfortunately. You could tell which people were actual Syndicate members and which were just guests or hired help by what they did: the members tried to take cover under or behind whatever they could find, while the others just milled around making lots of noise. I whispered a curse as I lost sight of Gaav, and risked leaning a little further out of my meager cover to try to spot him again. 

There! There he was, half-hidden behind another one of those columns on the far side of the room, studying the metallic invader. He frowned and turned away from it after a moment, sweeping his eyes across the dance floor until he spotted me. His eyes locked with mine, and he made some gestures: pointing at the robot, then at me, then sweeping his hand across his face. We'd done a little bit of work on hand signs while I was trying to catch my breath after his sadistic training bouts, but it took me a moment to realize what he meant. _Get in its face._ I swallowed. Well, I could probably handle that. I just hoped I didn't piss my pants along the way. 

I twisted around. "You," I said. "Lina. How many of those grenades have you got?" 

"Five." 

"Fine. Give me two." 

She gave me a suspicious look as I held out my hand. "What are you going to do with them?" 

"Distract Taforashia, or whatever his name is. Look, if you get a chance—did you see where Rezo went? Over toward the fire stairs? Go that way if you can. Safer than the elevator." 

"Hmm." She weighed the grenades in her hand. "Okay, here's two. I'll go the other way. Two distractions are better than one, right?" 

Zelgadis covered his eyes briefly. Then he said, "Give me one too," and gestured with a mittened hand. 

If Gaav had been there, he probably would have thrown a hairy fit, with the words, "Fucking amateurs!" figuring into it somewhere . . . but I was the one on the spot, I doubted I could intimidate the two of them, _and_ I was borrowing their ordnance. So all I said was, "We should spread out a bit. I'm going to head for the next column there, with the little table beside it." 

"Right," Lina said. Zelgadis nodded. "Good luck," the girl added, stuffed her last two grenades inside her costume, and began to crawl across the floor. 

I took a deep breath, gathered myself, and sprang quickly across the space between the last potted plant and the little table. The robot apparently didn't have any weapons other than the rocket launcher, but when you could pick up a table and swing it around, that barely mattered. Anyway, it was busy swinging at a group of security guys and didn't notice me. Gaav was moving slowly along the far wall. 

The security guys went down, and I pulled the pin from the little grenade, counted quickly to three, and threw. It went off right in front of the robot, knocking it off-balance, and Gaav jumped in from behind. Instead of a gun, he had that ridiculous sword in his hands . . . which immediately began to look less ridiculous when he slipped it into some narrow opening and used it to pry at one of the robot's armour panels. It made a loud _skree_ noise and tilted up. Then Gaav got his gun out, aimed it at the gap he'd created, and pulled the trigger. 

There was a high-pitched cry that seemed to hold as much indignation as fear, and I heard Gaav snarl, "I've got five more shots—want to bet your life that I can't hit you?" 

The robot stopped moving, and for a moment, everything was quiet. Then a series of panels on the front slid aside, revealing a coffin-sized interior space. And sitting inside it was . . . _I don't believe this—it's a kid!_

Posel Korba Taforashia looked like he was maybe ten years old, skinny, and tanned. Or maybe that was just his natural skin tone. His pink-purple hair stood up in a crest in front, and he had a really big gold hoop earring dangling from one ear. Right now, he was scowling. I thought he was as much embarrassed as anything. 

"Okay," he said. "You win. For now." 

"Get out of that thing, then," my lover said. 

Posel sighed and undid the cross-wise seatbelts, or whatever you wanted to call them, that were holding him into the robot's control chair. Then he clambered down along the thing's extended leg. 

I let myself relax just a bit and look around at the room. Posel had done a pretty good job of trashing the place. A lot of the ceiling was on the floor in chunks, there were several people lying or sitting around the edges with blood coming out of them or limbs that were visibly bent the wrong way, and the stuff from the refreshments table had been sprayed all over. At least it didn't look like anyone had been killed. 

Gaav was giving orders to some of the security goons. I reached his side in time to hear, " . . . and don't hurt him. Yet. I want to get to the bottom of this shit. There's no way a kid like that was working alone. Where the fuck are those stretchers?" 

"On their way up, sir," said a man with greenish hair who was wearing some kind of white uniform thing—Lyzeillan navy, I think. 

"Right, then. Kanzel, you're in charge of that detail when they get here. Get the victims' names, and room numbers at Wolfpack General if anyone needs to be admitted, 'cause the damage control people will probably want to send them flowers." 

"Yes, sir." So green-hair's name was Kanzel. Fair enough. 

"Val—you're okay?" 

Startled, I produced, "Um, yeah—I was never really in the line of fire." 

"Good. That's . . . good. Take a couple of people and start herding the uninjured guests into the lounge in the other half of the floor. Raltaak, what's the door combo for that?" 

"Three-eight-three-nine-five-six." That was the oldest of the security guys, a short man with grey hair and eyebrows so thick they completely hid his eyes. 

_Be businesslike,_ I told myself. _Don't embarrass him._ "Three-eight-three-nine-five-six, right—you got that?" I asked, pointing at an average-looking security guy at the edge of the group, who nodded. "Go and open the place up, then. Get the lights on, that kind of crap, and get whatever refreshments hadn't been set out yet into the room—people are going to want something to do with their hands. You and you—" I pointed to two more hopefully-junior people, including one of the very few women in the group. "You're with me." 

Some of the guests were in shock, or just wanted to get the hell out of there, and were very happy to be told to go across the hall. Some didn't want to leave injured family or friends, and I let those be after telling them where everyone else was going. The pains in the ass were the ones who wanted to vent. It took me a little while to figure out that if I backed away slowly while saying crap like, "I'm sorry" and "I'm sure you're right", a lot of them would follow me right out into the hall so that they could do more yelling. The others . . . well. The woman guard managed to get the attention of some of them by asking for their help. A couple of them, we just left alone, figuring that letting the rest of the ceiling fall on their heads would be doing the world a favour. The guy who took a swing at me, I got in an arm lock and hustled across the hall anyway. 

It was a lot more tiring than I'd expected, but by the time the guys with the stretchers showed up, we had the room mostly empty. Well, except for the giant robot, the bits of wall and ceiling, and the general mess. 

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, leaning back against a decorative column that had escaped the rocket barrage and wiping my forehead. 

I tensed as a large shadow fell across me, then relaxed again the moment I heard Gaav's familiar rumble. "About what?" 

"Not one of those windows is broken. What the hell are they made out of?" 

"Some experimental armourglass shit that Phibby cooked up. The building would probably come apart before it even got scratched." He looked just as wrung-out as I felt, and someone had spilled red wine on his vest. Or at least I hoped it was wine. As far as I could tell, he wasn't hurt, though. 

"It isn't, is it? Going to come apart, I mean." 

"No, none of the structural supports were damaged. Although no one's going to be using the rooms right above this until someone can check the floors. And a couple of circuit breakers got flipped. Good thing there's no plumbing running through here." My lover sighed. "Fuck, and here I thought we weren't going to have to deal with anything worse than a bit of pointing and name-calling tonight. Now, did you manage to learn how my baby cousin got here, and who the girl with him was, or did everything hit the fan too fast?" 

I shrugged. "Zelgadis seems to have known there was something going on for a while now—think we should invite him to the engagement party? Anyway, the girl pressured him into pressuring Rezo into bringing them. Her name's Lina Inverse, or so she says. Journalism student, according to Zelgadis. I get the impression they went to school together or something. She heard rumours about the Syndicate being based here and wanted to write an article about it." 

"And she thinks she'd actually be able to publish it?" 

"I'm not sure how far she thought that part through. I take it someone in your family has a thing for buying shares in media companies." It was what I would have done, anyway. 

"That started more than a hundred years ago. These days, the family's got its fingers in everything of more than a certain size, and squashes anyone who doesn't want to toe the line." 

I raised an eyebrow. "Didn't your original plan, way back at the beginning, call for us getting a few articles published?" 

"That was about the Paladins and Anahar, with no Syndicate involvement as far as I knew at the time. And really, I'm kind of surprised all our poking and prodding didn't turn up this little side venture of Rezo's." Gaav nodded in the direction of Posel's robot, scowling. "It makes me wonder what else we might have missed." 

"I thought you'd be busy questioning the kid right now." 

"I'll get started as soon as Dolly's done with her current project. It shouldn't be more than half an hour. Besides, I thought you might want to be there." 

" . . . Yeah." 

"You did pretty well tonight, you know," he said, his eyes steady on my face. "Spotted the suspicious people before I did, and then kept your head when everything went south. _And_ you managed to clear ninety percent of the uninjured civilians out of the room afterwards and get them quieted down." 

"So I lose points for missing the other ten percent and . . ." I said, half-jokingly. 

"Dropping your spear. It might have been of some use against that fucking robot, although the wooden shaft might have made it trickier to get it into a seam without it getting snapped off." 

"And _you_ lose points for nearly giving me a heart attack," I told him, although the truth was that once I'd started moving, I'd been so caught up in the moment I hadn't had time to be afraid—for him or for myself. "Jumping on that thing with a _sword_ , of all things . . ." 

He shrugged. "The gaps in the armour plate were too fucking narrow to get a bullet into, so I figured I'd open one up a bit. I don't think we could have taken it down any other way except lucky shots to all the sensors. Or heavy explosives. It's a piece of work, all right—a real walking tank. If that kid really designed it, I'm going to bury him in a drafting room somewhere and put him to work." 

"Are we looking to fight a war now?" I meant it as a joke, but it came out sounding serious. 

"Maybe. If there's a way of putting the option on the table, I don't see why we shouldn't do the set-up work. Just in case." 

I stared at him. "You're not joking." 

"I don't like doing things half-assed. Sometimes stopping shit like this quickly and violently means fewer people get hurt in the end. But if you'd rather we didn't . . ." 

"No," I said slowly. "No, I'd rather we did." Revenge was more important to me than the lives of random strangers. The heat of anger still coiled in my gut when I remembered everything that had been taken from me. It was just that I'd been thinking . . . smaller-scale. 

"We're on the same page, then." We were alone in the room now, the stretcher-people and even the few left-over complainers having moved on, so I didn't move away as he reached out and pulled me in closer, then leaned down and kissed me soundly. 

I sank my hands into his hair and leaned against him as his tongue explored my mouth, and oh man, did it feel good. 

"We'd better still be on for tonight," he rumbled as we parted. 

"Oh, yeah," I breathed. "Hell, if you don't screw me, I might chain you to the bed until you do." 

A familiar nasty grin appeared on Gaav's face. "Did you know that I once considered doing exactly that to you, while I was still playing priest? If I'd known you'd be so into it, I might just have gone ahead with it, too." 

"Guess we think alike," I said, grinning back at him. "I take it we have to finish with that Taforashia kid first before we can go to bed. Let's not take too long at it, okay?" 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

He really is a natural. I don't think he hesitated once during the entire mess, and if he did, it was for the right reasons. Solid steel, all the way through. I don't know why someone didn't snap him up years before I found him. 

Rezo, on the other hand . . . Rezo worries me. We've been digging at him for a couple of weeks now, and we didn't even get a hint that he and the Paladins' Supreme Elder were anything more than passing acquaintances. He might have his fucking thumb in a whole other stack of pies we haven't found out about yet. 

And . . . Taforashia. That's the little place in the Coastal States that fell apart about twenty years ago. Plague and civil war, that kind of crap. And now they've got no royals and two different councils dividing up what's left of the country, with bombs going off in random places from time to time. The whole place has gotten pounded to shit, and for what, really? It's just so fucking stupid. 

They had a king and a queen and a prince. There's no way this Posel can be old enough to be that prince, though. His son, maybe. 

But the weirdest thing about Taforashia is the gap in our data about them. I had Val bring my tablet down along with this stupid journal, so that I could check the data banks in between handling the problems involved with shipping the fucking guests home prematurely, and when I looked up Taforashia, I found the initial reports of plague, then several months of nothing, then, suddenly, the civil war. There should be a crapload of stuff in between, but for some reason it isn't there. It's like somebody erased it. That's another job for Dolly, I guess, when she's done hacking the video feed from the detention area. 

This Posel might have some of the answers we're looking for. And if he does, I don't want anyone else to have them too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it was somewhere around here that the story started moving as much sideways as forward for a while. Sigh.


	18. Chapter 18

The cells were in the basement, a couple of floors below the firing range. You needed a key to access those buttons in the elevator. Somehow I wasn't surprised. 

When we left the elevator, we were confronted with something that looked like the door to a bank vault. This one needed one of those stupid Syndicate pendants to get past. It opened immediately for Gaav's. 

On the other side was a guard room, with three big guys sitting at a table playing cards. The largest of them had weird two-tone hair, with a lighter stripe up the middle. He was the one who said, "Nice threads." 

"Rashatt," Gaav said. "So this is where they've been keeping you." 

"Ever since _you_ managed to fucking run away from me," the man with the two-tone hair said, scowling. "Hope you enjoyed your time in the outside world, _boss_ , because you're _never_ going back there, or your boy-toy either. They'll lock you up here before they ever let you go anywhere without a minder again." 

The other two guys snickered, and something went _snap_ inside my head. I lunged forward and flipped the table. Cards and coins went bouncing everywhere. I grabbed Rashatt by that strip of lighter, longer hair, and yanked him out of his chair. 

Then my brain caught up with my body and the words _oh, shit_ , crossed my mind. This was the kind of crap I'd pulled from time to time on the streets, stress pushing at me from the inside until I snapped and picked a fight with someone in the most violent possible way. The thing was, backing off at this point wouldn't stop the fight, and the truth was that I really didn't want to stop, anyway. 

I kicked Rashatt in the kneecap, and he stumbled another step before going down. My knee hit his chin, snapping his head back and spinning him so that he landed on his side. 

"Call me a boytoy again, and the next time, it's your balls," I growled. 

Rashatt raised his hand slowly to touch his chin, and his eyes flashed with anger. He shot back to his feet, putting most of his weight on the leg I hadn't kicked, and took a swing at me. I leaned sideways, letting his knuckles just graze my ear, and grabbed his arm before he could recover. A nice hard pull gave him a little extra momentum, and he was already off-balance. He went down again. 

This time, he bounced straight up, bellowing like an enraged bull, and came at me with both fists. I slid around his movements and used my entire body to strike back: feet, knees, elbows, the edges and heels of my hands. As I'd been taught. Rashatt was a boxer, and as Gaav had told me early on, pure boxing was for losers, robbing you of most of the weapons your body offered. 

For a few moments, I felt really good about myself. 

Then I was seeing stars, and I didn't know where they'd come from. Rashatt had to have done some kind of combination move that I wasn't experienced enough to dodge, but to this day, I don't know what it was. My vision cleared in time to see one big fist coming straight at my face, just before an even bigger hand came up to block it. 

"Val isn't just a pretty face," Gaav said as Rashatt's fist smacked against his palm. "Now stop, both of you. If I have to send one of you up to Medical, no one's going to be happy." 

Rashatt snorted. "So he can leave a guy with a few bruises. So what? Ten seconds more, and he would've been on the floor getting the shit pounded out of him." 

"Cut him some slack," Gaav said. "He's only been training for a couple of weeks." And he tossed me a grin and a wink, although his eyes were smouldering with lust more than amusement. 

"You're shitting me." 

I shook my head, wincing a bit as the motion set the fresh bruise on my cheekbone to throbbing even harder. "I never had any kind of systematic training before coming here. Did some street fighting, but that doesn't need skills, just balls. Plus a bit of crazy." 

Rashatt grunted, but he looked a bit less resentful. "So you went and found yourself a genius. Fine, whatever. You here to see the prisoner?" 

"Well, we sure as hell didn't come all the way down here to look at your ugly mug," my lover said. "Yeah, we're here for the prisoner. I can let the little shit out of his cell myself, though. You guys stay here." 

"Right." Rashatt plunked himself back down in his chair. One of the other guys was righting the table. By the time we were done with Posel Taforashia, the card game would probably be in full swing again. 

The door on the far side of the guard room led to what had to be the interrogation room, furnished with two benches and a table, all bolted to the floor. The door on the far side of that led to the cells. 

They weren't so bad, actually. I'd been held overnight by the police a couple of times—everyone on the streets probably has—and the Syndicate's cells were better-kept than the local station's drunk tank in Seyruun City. They didn't smell of piss, and the lighting was low enough that you might actually be able to get some sleep on the padded bench-cot-thing along the side of the cell. Each one had a little TV set, too, with headphones. 

Posel was stretched out on his side on the cot, with his face turned to the wall. He didn't look up when we entered. Gaav keyed the cell door open with his pendant, stepped inside, and lifted the kid off the bunk by his collar. 

"H-hey!" Posel yelped. "What do you think you're doing?!" 

"Getting your attention. We've got some questions for you. And the first one is: Are you going to get up and walk, or should I just sling you over my shoulder?" 

"I'll walk, I'll walk! Jeez . . ." 

Gaav guided the kid down the hallway ahead of us, and gestured to the bolted-down benches and table. "Have a seat. We might be here for a while." 

"Sure," Posel said, and clambered up to sit on the table. I rolled my eyes. Gaav just went over to the door that led back to the guard room, and leaned against the wall beside it. I took up station not too far from him, with my thumbs hooked in my belt. That left one hand pretty close to my pistol, just in case. 

"Are we ready yet?" Gaav asked the air. 

Posel blinked. His, "You tell me," overlapped with a voice coming from a corner of the ceiling. 

"I've got the cameras all ready. Good luck, Gaavvie." 

"What was that?" Posel asked. 

"It means we're not being recorded," Gaav said. "Val and I have a . . . let's say, a more personal interest in the doings of the Paladins of Gold than anyone else here does. That means we want real answers from you, not the shit Rezo wants to hear." 

"So what's in it for me?" 

Gaav raised a bushy eyebrow. "Well, if we like what we hear, we _might_ just get you out of here before someone decides you're less problematic as a corpse. I'd say my idiot baby brother will come up with that idea around noon tomorrow, unless he decides he needs more beauty sleep than usual. Once he airs a plan of action to the person in charge, it'll be difficult for me to override him, so we need to get things squared away tonight." 

Posel swallowed. "You're serious." 

"You did come pretty close to killing a bunch of people yourself," I pointed out. 

"That was different—I mean, I only meant to scare them." 

"Dead by mistake is just as dead." 

"I . . ." The kid bowed his head. Swallowed again. "I guess you're right. I was just so angry . . . I didn't know what else to do." He fidgeted a bit, then added, "Go ahead and ask your questions." 

"Fine," Gaav said. "First of all, who are you? The Taforashia name was only ever used by people in line to inherit the throne. Before the country went to shit, they did have a Prince Posel, but he'd be around my age. Are you his kid, or did you just like the name, or what?" 

The kid's mouth tamped itself down into a thin line. "I _am_ Prince Posel Korba Taforashia. Really. I'm not lying to you." 

Gaav eyes narrowed. "I'm willing to listen to your explanation, but it had better be pretty fucking good." 

"'Pretty fucking ridiculous' is more like it," the kid said, copying my lover's intonation. "But it's what happened." 

"Go on." 

"How much do you know about what actually happened in Taforashia?" 

Gaav shrugged. "Twenty years ago, there was an epidemic of something called Durum Disease that I can't find much about except that it's airborne and usually fatal. The government made like a sandcastle and crumbled after that, but again, details are pretty thin on the ground. Thinner than you can really explain away with a quarantine, even—they can't have confiscated every phone and radio transmitter in the country." 

"Durum Disease is always fatal," Posel said. "It can be arrested, which also makes the victim non-contagious, but it can't be cured. Still, that was more hope than we had before Rezo." 

Gaav's eyebrows knit together in a frown . . . but his mouth was twisted up like he'd just tasted something bad. "Rezo." 

Posel nodded. "He was in communication with the church fathers inside Taforashia, and through them, he passed the formula for a drug on to our scientists. The drug halts the disease, but there are side effects. Serious ones. And you don't know how it's going to affect you until you take it." He licked his lips. "I . . . stopped aging. Duclis, the captain of the royal guard, got turned into this sort of . . . of man-tiger creature. We're among the lucky ones, though. Two-thirds of the people who took the stuff just fell into a coma. Including my parents. They've been asleep for the past twenty years. Rezo promised us research towards a cure, for Durum and for the side effects, but he's had problems getting the money. And I've been stuck like this and what's left of my country is dying." 

"Then what was that shit about designs that you spouted when you barged in upstairs?" 

Posel made a sound that I think was supposed to be a laugh. "I met Rezo—you have to understand that I'd never actually encountered him in _person_ before—about a year ago. In the Costal States, like he said. I was trying to raise money for the research project, but I've never had any kind of head for that stuff myself—biology or fundraising, either one. I'm good with machines, but not so much with anything else. If things ever get to the point where I'm the one running Taforashia, I'm going to have to delegate just about everything, or it's going to be a disaster. But I'd put together a prototype design for the robot armour. I thought maybe it could be used for heavy labour in spaces too small for bulldozers or cranes, and maybe in hostile environments if we hooked it up to a remote control system . . . It was never supposed to be used for fighting." 

"I'd wondered why it had such half-assed weapons," Gaav said. "So Rezo introduced you to the Paladins' Elder, who fed you some shit about using it for relief work or something, and . . . ?" 

"And they did use a few of them for earthquake relief and such," Posel said. "I got paid for that part. But then I found out they'd sold the design to some place called Anahar—" 

"Anahar?!" I said involuntarily. 

"It's all starting to fit together, isn't it?" Gaav said. "Nice to know that the government down there is still such good friends with the Paladins. That ups our chances of hanging everyone with the same rope." 

"Um . . ." Posel said, looking from one of us to the other. 

"I'm from Anahar," I said, taking pity on him. "The current government killed my family, all the way out to something like eighth cousins. And the Paladins were involved." 

The kid blinked several times. "I . . . okay, but . . . why?" 

"Religion. We think." 

"That's crazy." 

I shrugged. "I think so too, but I wasn't the one doing the killing." I reached up to touch my mother's medallion . . . and stopped in mid-motion, realizing that Gaav had never given it back. Somehow I didn't think it had been an oversight. To cement my ties with him? _Ask him later,_ I told myself. 

"How did you find out Rezo was going to be here tonight?" Gaav asked. 

"Oh, that was Lina. She did some research on the guest list." 

"The girl who was with Zelgadis," I filled in when my lover scowled. "Skinny, orange hair, smart mouth, carries baby grenades around claiming they're for self-defense." 

"That's her, all right. If you ever want to really make her mad, just call her flat-chested. She's got this complex about her figure." Posel grinned cheekily. 

"She mentioned something about a partner who had snuck in with the catering company and gotten stuck in the kitchens. Do you have any idea who that might have been?" My question made Gaav scowl. He was probably wondering if he'd have to order everything in that kitchen scrubbed out and all the food discarded to ensure no poison had been left behind. 

"Did she have a blonde guy with her?" 

"Not that I saw." Of course, he could have wandered off just before I'd approached them and not made it back after the interruption, but I hadn't seen anyone else wearing the same kind of costume as Lina and Zelgadis. 

"Then it was probably him. Gourry Gabriev. Don't worry, he won't have gotten up to any mischief. That would take more brains than he's got. I mean, I've probably _eaten_ stuff that's brighter than him." 

"And Lina puts up with him?" I asked, surprised. 

"Weeeell, he's . . . kind, I guess you could say. And he has this weird way of spotting things that everyone else misses. And he can reach the top shelf in the grocery store. And he puts up with her, which is pretty hard work sometimes." 

I snorted. "I can imagine." 

"Last question," Gaav said. "Are you willing to give us a hand in setting up the Paladins of Gold for a fall?" 

Posel's expression went very serious. "What would I need to do?" 

"Probably just pass a couple of messages to the Paladins or Rezo. They'd even be true, or at least uncheckable enough that you could claim an honest mistake. Maybe suggest a meeting or something on a schedule of our choice, to negotiate about your . . . problems. Nothing worse than that." 

"We don't really want you all that involved either," I added when my lover seemed to have finished what he had to say. 

Silence for one breath, then two. Then Posel let out a sigh. "Okay. If that's all it is, okay. But if I have to choose between following your plan and putting my country at risk, then I'll choose Taforashia. Every time." His expression now was much too old for his face. "Are you at least going to give me your name?" 

"There's no point in not telling you, I guess, since your little friend Lina probably wouldn't have to work all that hard to ferret us out. I'm Gaav Magnus. And this is Val Agares." 

"My friends call me Pokota." 

"I don't know that we're going to be friends exactly, but okay," my lover said. "Now, let's get you out of here. And . . . I don't care what you say, or to who, exactly, but if word of this gets back to Rezo, the Paladins, Anahar, or the Ruby-Eye Syndicate, I'm going to do everything in my power to trash what's left of Taforashia. Same thing if you try to go back on your promises. And don't think that I can't do it—I've run small wars before. Got it?" 

Maybe someone normal would have considered destroying an entire country because someone couldn't keep his mouth shut a bit excessive, but I understood why Gaav had said it. Posel or Pokota or whatever he wanted to call himself didn't seem to care much about his own life, but he did care about Taforashia. If we wanted to move him, that was the most effective lever to use. 

" . . . Yeah." 

"Good. Now, I'm going to have to cuff you, or the guards are going to get antsy." 

Pokota rolled his eyes, but he also held out his arms. "Let's get this over with." 

We led him past the guards, who didn't do anything to stop us. Rashatt did kind of roll his eyes and mutter, "Good riddance," though. His face had a bunch of nice purple patches on it, with one eye starting to swell shut, so I'd done him some decent damage, even if it hadn't been enough to take him down. 

Gaav took Pokota's handcuffs off again in the elevator. Once on the ground floor, we escorted him out the door and watched him disappear down the street. 

Somehow, I was willing to bet we hadn't seen the last of him, though. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

It was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud from pure pleasure when Val started spitting sparks at Rashatt. He's like a pocket-sized fire-breathing dragon when something pisses him off, and I love it. I love him. 

And Rashatt wasn't far off the mark, calling him a genius. Val has some of the best instincts for combat I've ever seen, and he doesn't give up if he can see a way to fight back. Okay, so he didn't win this time, but Rashatt's had the full super-soldier augmentation course and ten extra years of experience. Val isn't there yet, but give him another ten or twelve months and he'll be able to dismember Rashatt with his bare hands. 

Plus, I have to admit, seeing him fight was a turn-on. It was all I could do not to take him right there, up against the wall. Even with the audience. 

Questioning the runt, afterwards, was like a bucket of cold water, though. Another picture that I really don't like is starting to come clear, and this time it's centered around Rezo. I hope I'm wrong, because what I suspect would be a shitty thing for him to do even by my standards. 

. . . Yeah, I guess I do have standards about some things. Weird. But while Rezo may be a hypocrite, this is the first time I've ever suspected him of being a bad as Phibby. 

I'm just glad Val wasn't offended when I warned that runt that I'd take his bad behaviour out on his beloved country. I admit I have a bit of a problem, sometimes, figuring out what normal people would see as "proportionate", but I'm pretty sure that was over some kind of line. But it was efficient, and I guess Val understood that. And I don't care about anyone else's opinion.


	19. Chapter 19

I had a gash nearly an inch long on my arm where I must have clipped one of Rashatt's teeth while I'd been going for an elbow strike. I hadn't even noticed it until Gaav pointed it out, and I endured with gritted teeth while he swabbed it out with antiseptic and covered up the mess with a really wide band-aid. 

"You okay?" he asked me afterwards as he rinsed his hands in the bathroom sink of our apartment. 

I forced a smile. "I think I might be a bit in shock. I mean, I was expecting a boring evening, and then so much happened so fast . . . I'll get over it." 

"Mmm. What do you think of that Pokota character?" 

"His story sounded like the worst kind of bullshit . . . but you believe him, don't you? Why?" 

"Because it makes a really ugly kind of sense." Gaav scowled. "Think about it. This weird disease comes out of nowhere, and _Rezo_ , of all people, is right there with a treatment for it. Like he knew about it in advance." 

I felt like I'd been hit in the face with a bucket of ice water. "You're saying he spread the Durum Disease. On purpose." 

"Even worse. I think he might have invented it, or had someone do it for him, and then spread it on purpose to give him an excuse for wide-scale human trials of his 'cure'." 

The only words I could dredge up were, "Oh, fuck." 

"If he could get it to work all the time the way Pokota says it did on him, can you imagine what it would be worth?" 

"I don't think my imagination can picture something that big," I admitted. "More than all the money in the world, would be my guess." 

Gaav grunted an affirmative. "And I'd bet it works just great on lab mice. Immortality serum. Fuck. Another complication that we really don't need." 

I nodded. Maybe I should have been on fire with the need to get justice for Taforashia, but I was having a hard enough time trying to keep track of everything I might need to deal with Anahar and the Paladins. I was no hero, and my own concerns, my own justice, came first. 

"If we get Rezo tangled up in this and take him down, it won't matter anyway," Gaav added. "And if we don't . . ." He shrugged. "More importantly, the test results came back today." 

The unexpected change of subject just about gave me whiplash. I could not for the life of me remember what tests he was talking about. 

"And?" was the most intelligent thing I could think of to say. 

My lover smirked. "And we're both clean. No more condoms, unless you want them." 

My cock went straight to half-mast. _Those_ tests. I'd half-forgotten about them, but I remembered now. 

"Nah, I'm good without if you are," I said, trying to sound casual. 

That got a chuckle from him. "You hopeless brat." 

"You know you love me anyway," I said, reaching up to cup the side of his face with my hand. I felt his eyebrow twitch as I tried to smoothe the very edge of it (impossible, given the thickness of the coarse, bushy hair). Then he was covering my mouth with his, and I shifted my grip so that I could wrap both arms around his neck instead. 

"Right now, I'm less interested in what I feel about you than I am in feeling you up," he said as we parted. 

I snorted. "You'd better not stop there. You pretty much promised me a good, hard fuck after the party, and I've had to wait for several hours more than we originally thought." 

"Next time, I'll find something to use as lube and drag you into a closet, how's that?" 

"Sounds good—better than waiting, anyway." I didn't care about romantic crap either right then—I was just horny as hell, hard inside the leather bottom half of my stupid barbarian costume, and past ready to be split open by his cock. 

"Think you can make it to the bed, or am I going to have to carry you?" 

I rolled my eyes. "It's less than ten steps." 

"Better cover them quick," he said, and licked my ear, making me shiver. 

I covered the distance to the bed in double-time. In the process, I left the vest and the bracers and the stupid arm-rings on the floor. I would have ditched the boots, too, but Gaav didn't seem interested in giving me the time or the space. His hands were always there, brushing against my jaw or tweaking a nipple or squeezing my ass. 

Not that I gave him a hell of a lot of space, either. I remembered the trick to getting his belt undone, so he ended up kicking off his trousers and his boots. The leopard-fur vest followed a moment later, leaving him wearing only the heavy gold bands around his biceps. So he pushed me down on the bed with me half-dressed and him effectively bare-ass naked, and switched from exploring me with his hands to using his mouth instead. 

I winced and turned my head to one side as his tongue traced a scar. I should have known that he would notice. 

"These can't still hurt, after all this time." 

"Not . . . physically. But the memories . . ." 

The gust of air from his sigh turned the damp trail he'd left behind cold. "Sorry—guess I didn't think that through. To me, they just mean that you're strong. A survivor. Someone I don't have to worry as much about losing. For now, though, I'm more interested in taking your mind off it." His hand squeezed my crotch through the leather as his mouth latched onto one of my nipples and began to suck, and my erection, which had started to flag, returned full-strength again. 

I nearly kneed him in the chin kicking those boots off, but that just made both of us laugh. The thought that I could do him any damage . . . it was ridiculous. Then he undid my belt and pulled my trousers down. My breath hitched as he paused for a moment, just looking at me. His eyes were intense. Predatory. Then he gave me that familiar nasty grin. 

"You look good enough to eat. Hope you don't mind if I help myself." 

My fingers dug into the bedding as he bent his head slowly towards my crotch. The anticipation was the worst thing I'd ever felt . . . or maybe the best. I wasn't sure. I felt the warmth of his breath, and then his tongue lapped out, tasting me slowly and thoroughly. 

"Mmm," he rumbled. It sounded like the purr of a tiger. "Been waiting to do that for a while," he added, and then sucked the head of my cock into his mouth before I could reply, and began working his way down the shaft. 

It was the first blow job he'd ever given me, and the best one I'd ever had. I didn't think it felt like that just because I was in love with him, either. Maybe there was something to be said for dating older men . . . I groaned as he sucked firmly, working his tongue against the underside of my shaft, and then backed off again until only the head was still inside and used his tongue to probe the slit instead. I had two handfuls of his hair, thick and silky, and I wasn't even sure when I'd reached for it. I had to be leaking down his throat . . . 

Suddenly he went down on me even further. My cock must have gone all the way to the back of his throat, its full length enveloped in _hot_ and _wet_ and it was amazing . . . but not quite enough to make me come, not even when he started fingering my balls. 

"Want . . ." I managed, and he looked up at me with his eyebrows raised and my cock still in his mouth. "Want you _in_ me." 

The eyebrows stayed raised as he backed off all the way. "Stretching you is going to take a little while. I thought you might want to get off first, seeing as you looked like you were ready to come in your pants." 

I shook my head. "No, I want you there when I come. Where you're supposed to be." 

"'Supposed to be'?" he asked, with a hint of a smirk. "Might be a little fucking difficult to get much done if we were stuck together that way all the time, don't you think?" 

I snorted. "You know what I mean." 

"Not really, but I know what you _want_ , and that's the important part, right?" He grabbed a tube of lube off the nightstand and squirted some on his fingers. 

"Don't be too careful," I told him. "I can handle a little pain if it gets you in me faster." I raised my hips obligingly as he started to reach for me. Damn, I was just about drooling at the thought of his cock. When had I turned into such a bottom? 

"I'm not looking to test your tolerances." He smirked at me as he rubbed his fingers up and down the crack of my ass, spreading lube there. "Not tonight. After they've given you the advanced healing shit, maybe, but that's right at the end." Another squirt of lube, and his finger was pushing inside me, finally, oh fuck . . . My hands dug into the bedding again, and I twisted, trying to get him to press against my prostate, but he twisted with me, the bastard. I snarled at him, but he just laughed. "Gonna bite me?" 

"Don't tempt me," I retorted, then groaned as he did brush across my prostate, just lightly. "Bastard," I hissed. 

"Bet your ass . . . but then you kind of _are_." He punctuated the words by sticking another finger in and scissoring them. My hips moved with a will of their own, trying to slide those fingers in deeper and make them really fuck me, and I hissed another curse. Gaav laughed again. "You'd breathe fire at me if you could, wouldn't you? Little dragon. Let's see if I can make you roar." 

"One of these days I'm going to pin _you_ to the fucking bed and ride you until you can't stand up!" I promised. The image burned in my mind's muddled eye: his body stretched out beneath mine, wrists and ankles bound, eyes snapping sparks as I lowered myself down onto him . . . 

"You're a long way from being able to do that," he said, and pushed another finger in. I gritted my teeth, refusing to let myself be reduced to a whining, moaning puddle. "You really like that, don't you." 

It wasn't really a question, so I gave him my best glare rather than an answer. 

"Sensitive," Gaav continued, smirking. "So, if I do _this_ . . ." He rubbed my prostate, just about stroking it, and my fingers dug into the mattress again as the whine I'd been trying to repress forced itself out of me. " . . . I get a reaction like _that_ ," he finished. "And here I always thought that experiment crap that Phibby's always going on about was a waste of time." 

"I don't think there's any way you could turn playing with someone's ass into a science experiment," I forced out. 

"Oh, I don't know . . . 'Response levels to anal play in males according to sexual orientation' sounds like the kind of fucking nonsense Phibby would try to publish. Except that the content would make his head explode. And I'm not about to finger the asses of a whole bunch of different guys just to get a good statistical sample." 

"I'd fucking well hope not!" I moaned as he did that thing with his fingers again. 

" . . . And I think you're stretched enough. Which is a good thing, because if we keep on with this stupid conversation much longer, _my_ head is going to explode." A shudder ran through him as he pulled his fingers out of me. "Fuck, you're tight. And hot. This is going to be _fantastic_." 

I grabbed the lube from his hand before he could squeeze any out and put a dollop on my hand instead. "If you get to taste me, I at least get to feel you up," I told him, and he snorted and sat back on his heels, putting his erection on display between his thighs. 

"Go ahead, but don't take too long." 

I did my best imitation of his evil grin as I reached for him. "Why not?" He still had the biggest cock I'd ever seen, hard and hot and heavy against my palm as I rubbed it up and down, slicking it, and dipping my finger in the fluid dripping from the tip. 

One of those bushy eyebrows rose. "Do you really want to have to wait for me to get it back up?" 

Instead of answering, I brought my hand to my mouth and slowly licked my fingertip clean. I'd never dared taste him before. The flavour was strong, thicker and muskier than I remembered from the few times I'd tried this with someone else. And he was staring at my hand and my tongue. Like I'd hypnotized him. 

He lunged the moment I stopped, putting his weight on me and pushing me down into the mattress, covering my mouth with his, mingling the flavours of me and him on my tongue. It made my ass spasm hungrily, and how the hell was that even possible? I don't know. I guess he just made my entire body go crazy. 

He reached down, and I felt the tip of his cock leave a slick trail on the skin behind my balls as he guided it to the place where it belonged. _There._ And he pushed in and I pushed down and he let out a low moan as the head of his cock popped into my body. 

"Fuck . . ." he muttered. And, "Val . . ." 

"More . . ." I couldn't manage to say anything else that made sense. I doubt he could either, given the expression on his face as he surged forward, impaling me deeper, and deeper still . . . I could feel the burn as my flesh was stretched to the limit. Eventually, I knew, my body would get used to this, used to him, and the burn would go away, but not for a long time yet. And one of my hands was tangled in his hair and one was digging into the mattress again and all I could see was his face and all I could hear was our breathing, harsh, rapid pants that were slowly synchronizing until we inhaled and exhaled together, as one, because we were one together now and I could feel not just the thrusts but every tiny shift of his cock as it slid across my prostate and my balls had never been so heavy or so full and fuck, it felt like they were about to burst . . . _Gaav_ . . . 

Maybe the sound I made as I came did qualify as a roar. I didn't know or care. My focus was on touch and sensation and him, my body squeezing down on his cock as he began to pulse inside me, dumping his load into my body while I splattered mine against his stomach. If the building had fallen apart around us while that was going on, I don't think I would even have noticed. 

Orgasm doesn't last that long, though. Not even a minute. So gradually, the room opened up around me again, the clothing strewn all over the floor and the window whose blinds we'd forgotten to draw letting moonlight spill in. Not that it mattered, given that the next tallest building in the city ended a good five stories below us and wasn't visible from here. Anyone spying on us would have had to be hovering in a helicopter or using a telescope, and if they were going to those lengths they shouldn't be surprised at us giving them an eyeful. 

"Damn, it must be two in the morning," I muttered. 

"Three-thirty," Gaav corrected, with a nod at the clock on the bedside table. "Let's sleep in," he added, leaning in to quickly steal a kiss. "Fuck the schedule—mine as well as yours. There was no fucking mech on Dad's _schedule_." 

"Sounds good," I said, repressing a yawn, and reaching for a handful of kleenex so that I could wipe myself down enough to keep from sticking to the sheets. And then I'd go to sleep beside him, and wake up and find him still there, with his body curved protectively around mine. 

Maybe, eventually, I'd even get used to him still being there, to the idea that there was someone important to me that I hadn't lost yet. Someday. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

This is just getting more and more tangled. Too many people, factions, motives, with Val and me and Rezo in a little unholy triangle in the center, holding it all together. At least it isn't a fucking threesome. I don't think I could handle that. The last thing I ever want to see is that scrawny old bastard's bare ass, even if I'm reaming it. Ugh. Just thinking about it makes me want to throw up. 

I'm worried. I can admit that here, even if I can't anywhere else, so I guess this stupid fucking book is good for something after all. I feel like I'm in over my head, like Val and I, and the girls too for that matter, are trapped in a tangle of razor wire and I can't find a safe way to get us all out. Even if I'm willing to bleed for them. I know it's stupid for me to feel responsible for them, and Val especially would be pissed off if he ever found out, but . . . I do. Fuck. 

Part of me feels like I should trust him with this. Tell him my fears. And that scares me most of all. The last time I admitted something like that, Phibby turned right around and made my fear come true. But the impulse to confide in Val is still really fucking strong. 

I don't get this love thing. I really don't, and I don't know if I ever will.


	20. Chapter 20

I took a gulp of water and my stomach lurched. "Shit," I muttered, and took two of the anti-nausea pills that were never far from me these days. There was a big bruise blooming on my shoulder, and another one just above my hip, where I'd walked into one of Gaav's kicks. I was getting better at reading what he intended to do, but "better" wasn't always good enough. Not yet. 

At least the bruises were healing a lot faster now. They'd be faded to nothing in a day or two. 

"We're done for the day," my lover said from behind me, his voice a quiet rumble. "I don't want you to be too stiff to move while we're at that fucking meeting. Or tonight." 

He was scowling when I turned to look at him. The meeting, yes. The meeting between Pokota and the Supreme Elder of the Paladins of Gold, with Rezo supposedly mediating as the two of them attempted to hammer out some sort of compromise in the matter of giant robots. There would have had to be security there anyway, so Gaav had assigned the two of us to the job, even though the timing was supremely bad, what with our engagement party being tonight. But we weren't going to miss this. 

Not after we'd called in the favour Pokota owed us to set it up. 

Gaav's expression softened as he added, "You're getting a lot better. It's been a while since one opponent last made me sweat like this. Rashatt used to be able to do it when I was about your age, but either I've gotten better or he's gone fucking soft." 

"Maybe a bit of both?" I suggested. 

"Hmph. Maybe." He stretched, bending his back the wrong way with a level of flexibility I hadn't achieved yet . . . although I was getting there. "For now, let's hit the showers," he continued, straightening. "We've got about twenty minutes." 

"Right." 

We got the shower over with quickly, turning our backs to each other so as to avoid . . . distractions, but dressing was another matter again. The security uniforms for Magnus Enterprises, Inc., which was the front for the Syndicate here in Wolf Pack, involved a tie, something I hadn't worn since my family had died, and I'd never gotten the hang of tying them. In the end, I made such a mess of it that Gaav had to do it for me. And I was really grateful the building was air conditioned and we weren't going outside, because layering a blazer (discreetly embroidered on the pocket with the Magnus Enterprises logo and the word "Security") over a shirt over a bullet-proof vest over an undershirt was not a recipe for cooling off. 

Looking at my reflection in the mirror once I had the full rig on left me with the impression that my head didn't belong to the rest of me. My hair just would not lie down at its current length. I should probably have either gotten it buzzed off short or started growing it out again, but it felt like I'd be leaving part of myself behind somehow. At least it made most of the headset I was wearing disappear. 

Gaav pulled off the uniform with the same complete confidence as he brought to any other type of clothing. You could probably have put him in a tutu or a pink bikini, and he would just have smirked and posed to show off his biceps. 

"Ready?" he asked me. 

I swallowed and nodded. 

"Calm down," he added, putting one hand on my shoulder. "We're just going to be holding up the walls. Don't speak unless you're spoken to, and if you are, say as little as possible. There are a few descendants of the Ancient Clan outside Anahar—no reason you couldn't be one of them, even with those eyes of yours. It's going to be fine." 

My eyes, yes, the hot gold peculiar to my people and a few related clans. I forced a smile. "You didn't swear once while you were saying that. I think that makes me even more worried." 

Gaav laughed. "Cheeky brat. Come on, let's get upstairs." 

It was the first time I'd entered the big meeting room on the fortieth floor since my . . . unfortunate introduction to Wolf Pack Island. I had to grit my teeth and force myself over the threshold, although hopefully no one noticed. Then I found a bit of wall that was much closer to the window than I had been when I'd been interrogated by Lei Magnus, and let it hold me up while trying to look like I hadn't just soaked my shirt with sweat and my knees were just _fine_ , no-thanks-for-asking. 

Rezo got there first, with his usual female escort, back in her shrine maiden costume. I'd found out that her name was Eris, and she was a novice priestess under Rezo's instruction. The looks she gave her mentor spoke volumes, although as far as I could tell, he didn't know that she wanted to get under his robes. 

"Is everything in readiness?" Rezo asked as he sat down at the head of the table, in the spot where I remembered his brother sitting. Eris hovered behind him. 

"Just waiting for the guests," Gaav rumbled, from his station by the door. 

Rezo raised his eyebrows. "Oh? I didn't expect to find you working, given your plans for tonight." 

Gaav shrugged. "I think what happened the other day proves that if that Posel character brings another fucking mech with him this time, I'm going to have to be the one who deals with it. No one else around here has the balls." 

"As you say. And who did you bring with you? Rashatt?" 

"Like hell," Gaav growled. 

"Yo," I said, for Rezo's benefit—exactly the wrong thing to say, according to the etiquette garbage they'd been stuffing me with, but I knew now what Gaav meant when he said it was better to break the rules on purpose. "We'll be looking after you today, and all that crap." 

"Thank you," Rezo murmured, his expression odd, but not angry or disgusted. Well, he didn't spend all of his time on the island. Maybe he had some contact with the dregs of society while he was doing the archpriest thing in Seyruun. 

The door opened just then, admitting one short and one tall person. The short one was Pokota, dressed in a suit and looking solemn. It had probably taken him a hell of a lot of courage just to re-enter the building. The big guy behind him, only a few inches shorter than Gaav, wore this hooded robe thing, and a . . . scarf, veil, whatever you wanted to call it, wrapped over his face so that you couldn't see more than the eyes. None of it was enough to hide the fact that there was something seriously wrong with his body. From what Pokota had said, it was probably a side effect of the Durum "cure". 

"Lord Rezo, it's a pleasure to see you again," the pint-sized prince said. 

"Likewise," Rezo said, tipping his head. "And your companion?" 

"Duclis," the big guy said. "Formerly Captain of the Royal Guard of Taforashia and Chief General of the Armies." He bowed, even though Rezo wouldn't be able to see it. 

"Ah, yes, I've heard of you. I must apologize for the effects the anti-Durum serum had on you—please believe me when I say I had no idea—" 

_Liar,_ I thought, but Duclis just said, "It's quite all right, Lord Rezo. I've become used to my current state, and it causes me no problems unless I'm travelling outside Taforashia or Anahar." 

I'd known it would come up sooner or later, that name—Pokota had already mentioned it, after all. But I hadn't expected it to be so soon, and it sent a little stabbing pain through me. Like a needle. Somehow, I managed not to flinch. 

"Nevertheless, the plight of your nation is always on my mind," Rezo was saying. "The research has not been very successful so far, but I hope that—" 

The door opened again. I braced myself, forcing my face into its best non-expression and concentrating on keeping it there. 

I'd seen the wrinkled old buzzard who led the Paladins only once in person, from a distance and by firelight, but he looked exactly the same now. Even the glint in his eyes, so sharp and cold that it could cut your arm off and freeze the stump solid before you even noticed you were down a limb. But the fire of hatred it woke in me was hot. 

_Not much longer,_ I told myself. The opening move in our chess game was scheduled for tonight. 

The man who came in behind him wore a Paladin's clothes, vestments, whatever the hell you were supposed to call them, but I didn't recognize him. I was pretty sure he hadn't been in Anahar, and I didn't remember him from TV or the papers, either. Maybe they normally kept him under wraps for some reason? Then why bring him here? _I'll bet it's because he doesn't know anything, so he can make all the right noises and still manage to sound sincere._

The Paladins had brought one more person as well, a blonde girl who looked like she was maybe sixteen or seventeen. Also dressed like a priestess. She wore the robes better than Eris did, although that didn't take much. 

"Rezo," the Supreme Elder of the Paladins of Gold said. "A pleasure to see you again. It's been quite a while." 

"So it has," Rezo said, inclining his head. "Please, make yourselves comfortable, everyone." 

"Our thanks," said the other Paladin. "I am Milgazia Ul Rechis, northern district leader of the Paladins," he added. Actually, he wasn't bad-looking: good body, no paunch, strong hands, clean-cut face, bushy blonde eyebrows that reminded me a little of Gaav. Only a little, though. And his expression went beyond "poker-face" and on into "bland". 

"Filia Ul Copt, junior chaplain," the girl added, and damned if she didn't curtsey. "It's an honour to meet you, Lord Rezo." 

Rezo's smile was sweet and gentle. It reminded me of the fake one Gaav had sometimes used when he was playing priest. "I am scarcely important enough that meeting me deserves to be termed an honour," he said. "But welcome nonetheless, young Filia." 

"My great-niece is here as part of her training in negotiation," the Supreme Elder said as he pulled out a chair, pretending to lean on his cane for balance. Hypocrite. I'd seen him use the thing to bash skulls in, and he hadn't had any problems with his balance then. 

Rezo nodded. "I hope it is acceptable for everyone if we call this meeting to order at this point. We are here today to negotiate an acceptable settlement between Posel Korba Taforashia and party, who claim that Posel's inventions have been put to unacceptable uses by parties licensing his patents and designs, and the Paladins of Gold, said licensors, who claim that they did not sublicense the usages which Posel has discovered." 

"There's no question that his stuff is being used without permission," Duclis said with a snort. "I know Pok—Posel never sold any of his designs to Anahar, and yet the moment I go there as a consultant I find giant robots all over the place. _Familiar-looking_ giant robots." 

So Anahar really did have giant robots now, on top of all the rocket launchers and other more mundane crap they'd used to kill my people. The question was, what did they intend to do with them? Knowing La Gioconda, President-for-Life, it wasn't going to be anything very nice. 

"We have no connection with the government of Anahar," the Supreme Elder said. "In fact, until today, I'd scarcely heard of the place." 

_Liar,_ I thought, gritting my teeth. Milgazia blinked. "That's odd. I distinctly remember you discussing that land with me some five years ago, in the context of their exceptional willingness to spread the word of Ceiphied." 

"That was some time ago—permit an old man some problems with his memory when it comes to such trivial matters," the Supreme Elder said smoothly, but he shot a warning look at the younger Paladin. Milgazia's expression had already returned to its bland setting. Gaav, over by the door, had his eyes slightly narrowed. Thinking. Filing this away inside his head with all the other crap we had—and hadn't—turned up so far. 

"We are getting sidetracked here," Rezo said. "So there is evidence that some information may have leaked to the nation of Anahar. Is there any evidence of what route this information took?" 

That started a . . . well, not quite an argument. Heated discussion, I guess you'd call it. It became obvious pretty quickly that Pokota, Milgazia, and Filia had no idea how the designs had gotten from the Paladins to Anahar, the Supreme Elder was lying through his teeth, and Duclis . . . was awfully quiet. I really didn't get why Pokota had brought him. There was just something about him that seemed off, and I don't mean the way he dressed to try to cover up the . . . what had Pokota said about him again? That he looked like some kind of man-tiger? Anyway, there was something more off about him than just the Durum crap. I had a feeling he wasn't quite on the same page as everyone else, although damned if I could tell what he was actually thinking. 

They argued about blame and who it belonged to for two _hours_ without resolving anything. Like a little kid's argument where neither side is interested in anything other than winning. I think the only thing worse than being involved in an argument like that is having to stand there and watch it, without letting on that you want to kill one of the participants . . . and wouldn't mind if most of the others died in a fire, too. I didn't even like Pokota very much, and the others were all worse. 

"I fear we must adjourn," Rezo said as the time drew on toward five o'clock. "I have a social event to attend tonight. Family obligations, you understand." 

"Oh? What's the occasion?" Pokota asked. 

"One of my nephews is getting engaged." Rezo was showing that fake smile again. 

"I wasn't even aware that you had one nephew, much less several," Milgazia said. "Who is the lucky young lady, if I may ask?" 

Rezo's smile turned pained. "It's another young man. I fear that most of my family is . . . odd . . . in one way or another. As a result, it simplifies my life greatly when I avoid discussing them." 

"Surely being gay doesn't qualify as 'odd' in this day and age." That was the girl Filia. I felt my eyebrows rise, because she was the last person I'd expected to speak out in our defense. Of course, she didn't know who she was defending. 

"It does when you're from our generation, my dear," the Supreme Elder said, with a smile just as fake as Rezo's. "When I was your age, homosexuality was considered a mental disorder, and sufferers were subjected to drastic treatments. Things have changed a great deal in just the last few decades. Still, I hope we'll be able to offer our congratulations to the happy couple." 

"I don't see why not," Rezo said, smile still plastered across his face. "After all, it isn't _only_ a family affair. Wealth doesn't have that luxury." 

"Nor does power," Milgazia murmured. Filia gave him a concerned look, but the Paladin's expression remained bland. 

_Rezo won't be able to not invite them, since it's a public party,_ Gaav had said. _It's in part of that etiquette shit you haven't gotten to yet, and unlike me, he never blows it off. It isn't the place I would have chosen for this next bit, but now that we've got the opportunity, we're going to use it._

I didn't understand why I was so annoyed about it. We'd planned this with so much care, gone over it four, five, six times. It was _the_ next step. I just wished . . . that we'd been able to find some other excuse to throw a party, I guess. That we could save _this_ party for when it was going to be real. 

_I want to be engaged to you for real._ That was the truth, big and scary though it was. Sort of like the man it applied to. The two of us, together, forever. With no Paladins or Syndicate or Anahar crap to worry about. Except that the only way Gaav could get free of this place now was to blast his way out, and I . . . 

"Please take these," Rezo said, laying out some cards on the table. Even though I'd been expecting this, it took me a moment to recognize them, since I'd only seen the one Zelas had given us to sign off on. She'd chosen a good designer, at least—there hadn't been any frilly or flowery crap for us to nix, just text in an old-fashioned monumental font with some stupid formula about "cordially invited to witness", and our names. 

"Gaav Magnus and Valteria Agares," Milgazia read, and I actually saw an expression flicker across his face, although it was gone too quickly for me to figure out what it was. 

"Is something wrong?" Rezo asked. 

The Paladin shook his head. "Only that I once knew a man named Agares, but I doubt this is anyone connected with him. He and his family are all dead, and in any case, they were devout Old Rite. They would not have looked on a son who had . . . such inclinations . . . with favour." 

_They would have disowned me, you mean,_ I thought sourly. Maybe Milgazia _had_ really known my grandfather, or one of my uncles. 

Well. They weren't here any longer, and I was. I didn't care if they were spinning in their graves like tops and disturbing everyone else packed in with them. I was going to live my life as I saw fit, and what obligations I still had to them would end along with the Paladins and the current government of Anahar. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

Val's poker face is getting pretty good. I'd bet that I was the only one who could tell what he was thinking through most of that meeting, although it's probably a fucking good thing that no one else was looking at him while he was watching the Supreme Elder. He looked like he wanted to tear the old man's head off, eat the brains raw with a spoon, and then stick what was left on a pole outside our door as a warning to anyone who might think about crossing us. 

A man after my own heart, as Zelas would say. 

A man I want to keep. 

And now I'm sitting here waiting for him to finish dressing, and wondering if this is the way. This . . . circus we're about to be the star act in. I've told him it doesn't really mean anything, that there hasn't been time for us to make a good decision about whether we want to spend the rest of our lives together. And maybe when I told him that, it was even true. 

But now everything's different. Now I want so badly for it to be real that I can almost taste it. I want to . . . seal a pact with him. Want to be sure that ten years from now, or twenty, or fifty, when I look beside me, I'll see him standing there. 

Yeah, I guess I want to marry him. Don't know if I'm going to be able to. I haven't been keeping track of jurisdictions where it's legal. Fuck, I haven't even picked a place for us to hide out after we're done with this little project of ours. 

I've been acting like I don't expect us to survive. Even if I keep _saying_ otherwise. Stupid of me. 

. . . And I'm so pissed off at myself that I just broke another fucking pencil. Good thing it wasn't a pen, or there would be ink all over everything. Including me and my fancy fucking party suit. 

Okay. Put it all aside. I want to ask him. I know this isn't the time. So it'll just have to wait. I need to find a place for us to spend the rest of our lives together. That's going to have to wait too. 

The rest of it—the immediate, simple things, getting all of our patsies hooked up together— _that_ part seems to be going well, although I keep thinking that Uncle Rezo is going to pull something out of his ass and screw it up. Hopefully that's just my paranoia talking, and he'll play his part like a good little chess piece. 

And we'll see tonight just how well priests of the Church of Ceiphied Arisen react to dead guys eating from the same tray of hors d'oeuvres.


	21. Chapter 21

I stared at him, entranced and maybe a tiny bit dazed because the scenery was just so gorgeous: broad shoulders and trim waist and perfectly tailored jacket. I'd never seen anyone who filled out a tux the way Gaav did. He looked good enough to eat, and after the party, I was hoping to do just that, to peel him out of his fancy clothes slowly, tasting each surface of his body one at a time, and then climb on top of him and . . . 

"Better snap out of it before you start drooling," he rumbled, and I forced my mouth shut and gave him a smile. 

"Sorry, just thinking about having dessert after the party." 

He chuckled. "Yeah, you look pretty edible yourself. Now isn't the time, though." 

I gave him a glare. "Like I don't know that." 

"If things get too bad, there's a broom closet just a little ways along the back hallway. I might have a tough time fitting inside if we don't throw the mops out first, though. I've got the lube in an inside pocket." Gaav gave me a leer and a quick once-over as he spoke. 

"And here I thought you were supposed to be well-bred." 

"Nah, just _selectively_ bred. As far as I know, I'm peasant stock on both sides of the family. After all, if my mother'd been anyone important, how the fuck would she have ended up at a clinic owned by the Syndicate? It might not be an open secret exactly, but it isn't _that_ hard to follow the money trail." 

"Do you ever wonder who she was?" 

"My mother? When I was a kid, from time to time. Not so much now. All I ever figured out was that she was probably Scandic—they run to big blondes and red-heads there. At this point, I doubt that knowing about her would make very much difference in my life. Why?" 

"I don't know. It just seems kind of sad." And it did. I'd at least known that my parents had cared, even if we hadn't always gotten along. Was having a decent family and losing them in a horrible way better or worse than growing up in a vat of toxic sludge? I wasn't sure. Gaav might not really know what he was missing, but it also didn't seem _right_ that he'd missed it. 

Given the amount of crap he'd had to deal with all his life, it was a wonder that he'd wound up with any kind of morals at all. 

There was a knock on the door, which hadn't been quite closed to begin with, and drifted further open under pressure to reveal Xellos, looking much more comfortable in his tux than I felt in mine. And I didn't even have a purple bowtie to live down. 

"Mother says they're ready for you now, Uncle Gaav." 

"And you didn't have anything better to do than play messenger," Gaav said, watching his nephew thoughtfully. "This shit must be kind of boring for you. I know it always was for me." 

"Actually, it can be quite interesting. Seeing how people interact." Xellos was smiling in a sly way that suggested he was more interested in how he could _make_ them interact. 

"Hmm," was Gaav's only reply. "Go tell your mom we'll be there in a second." 

The kid was still smiling as he left the room. _He gives me the cold shudders,_ I admitted . . . inside my head, where not even Gaav would be aware of it. 

"You ready?" my lover asked. 

I forced a smile. "Yeah. I've already braced myself. Just . . . if that shitty elder starts waving his cane around, take it away from him, okay?" 

"Sure." He gave me a quick kiss, just a brush of his lips against mine, and then laid his hand on my shoulder and began to guide me toward the door. 

The room we entered was the lounge we'd guided everyone into after Pokota had crashed the end-of-October ball—the ballroom itself was still out of commission with part of the ceiling ripped open. Tonight, the lounge was brightly lit, and they had the usual buffet laid on. Three security people that I now knew slightly—green-haired Kanzel, his partner Mazenda, and a man named Seigram who had jagged scars across his face that made him look like nothing human—occupied shadowed corners, and in the center, there were . . . non-security people. Mostly. Lots of them. 

I checked in mid-stride. Blinked. Rubbed my eyes. Blinked again. No, I wasn't seeing things. Lurking on the fringes of the group were a big bald guy and a little guy with fox-orange hair, both looking uncomfortable in second-hand tuxes that didn't fit quite right. 

The little guy's eyes lit up when he saw me. "Boss!" He threw himself forward and grabbed me around the waist, hugging me like he'd fallen off a boat and I was a life preserver. 

"Jillas, what are you guys doing here? Where did you even get the plane tickets?" 

Jillas sniffled and said, "They came in the mail, boss. The tickets, the invite, even the hotel reservations—and let me tell you, it's the nicest place I ever stayed." 

"We ran into them at the airport," added a quiet voice from beside me. When I turned to look, Zelgadis gave me a crooked smile. His tux was tailor-made, but he didn't look much more comfortable in it than I did in mine. "They were pretty confused, but once we saw the invitations, we figured they had to belong to you." 

"I wouldn't say _that_ , exactly. I mean, it's not like they're my property. Jillas, who mailed you the tickets?" 

"Dunno, boss. There was no return address." 

Hell. For such a slick hacker, Jillas had an incredible ability to ignore danger until it bit him on the nose. Of course, not many people knew of my association with the two. I glanced at Gaav, but he shook his head minutely. Then I remembered. _Oh, hell, that bastard Dilgear._ Anyone from the Syndicate could have found out, if they'd wanted to send me . . . what? A present? A warning? A threat? 

All the important potential players were in the room. My gaze flickered to Zelas, who shrugged slightly. Phibby I would have expected to be gloating if he'd been involved, but he wasn't paying the least attention to us. Lei Magnus and Dynast were deep in discussion with each other. Dolphin didn't strike me as a likely suspect, somehow. Rashatt wouldn't have been able to scrape together the money, and anyway, I doubted he was that subtle. 

That left Rezo. Or Xellos, but this seemed like a bit much for a teenaged prank. The Red Priest didn't seem to be paying any attention to us either, but with a blind man, how could you tell? You can hear something without looking straight at it, and he wasn't actually _talking_ to anyone just now, just smiling serenely at nothing in particular. 

"If we'd had a bit more time, we would have gotten you a present," Jillas was saying, with Gravos nodding along. "Y'know, Boss, we were kinda worried. I mean, you just . . . up and disappeared, and, well, he did too—" Jillas gestured at Gaav, evidently at a loss as to what to call him. "—right on the morning after, and we couldn't find _either_ of you. Even your cell phone went off-line." 

I grimaced. "Dilgear's goons took it, I think. Or maybe someone of Phibrizzo's. I'll give you my new number later, okay?" Although all I had was the apartment landline and a security-issue cell phone, which were both probably bugged. Gaav had offered to buy me a new phone, but I'd refused him. It was one thing to depend on him for things that I _had_ to have, like food and clothes, or for things that we needed for The Plan, but other stuff I wanted to buy for myself. It made me feel less like I was sponging off him. 

Jillas sniffled and nodded, then said, "Actually, Boss . . ." 

I barely stopped myself from rolling my eyes. "What is it now?" 

"We were kind of wondering if you could, well, find us jobs? Seeing as you've come up in the world and all." 

"You'll have to talk to the big guy there," I said, indicating Gaav, who was talking to someone I didn't know. " _Tomorrow._ We're kind of busy right now." 

Jillas nodded again. "Right. And, um, congratulations." 

"Thanks." 

Not wanting to be blindsided again, I made a quick check of the room for anyone else I recognized who didn't belong . . . and immediately found another head of orange hair: Lina Inverse, hanging out near the refreshments with a blonde man in a white tux who seemed intent on emptying the table and not much else. Pokota had said something about him . . . Gourry, I thought that was the name. I wondered how they knew each other—something we maybe should have asked Pokota, but we'd been in a hurry that night. 

Other than that, we had Pokota himself, the Paladin contingent from this afternoon's meeting, and some local bigwigs I recognized from the costume ball disaster. Including a couple of the ones I'd coaxed across the hall into this room by letting them bitch at me. I wondered if they remembered. No one from Anahar, thank Ceiphied. Not even Duclis had shown. 

Someone cleared his throat right beside me. "Excuse me . . ." 

I turned. Oh, perfect. A little early, since we'd been meaning to wait until after the exchange of rings, but _perfect_. "Milgazia Ul Rechis, wasn't it?" 

"I'm surprised you remember," the paladin said. Apparently vestments counted as formal wear as well as business wear, because he hadn't changed into one of the ubiquitous tuxes. Well, Rezo seemed to think the same thing. And Eris and that girl Filia, although of course they would have been wearing dresses. 

"It's part of my job to keep track of people." Not a lie—that _was_ part of a guard's job, as Gaav was teaching it to me at any rate. "Was there something you wanted to talk about?" 

"Gold eyes," he said quietly. His were much the same colour, I noted with a flicker of surprise. He might even be from one of the other southern clans. The Ancient Clan had never run much to blondes, but there were a couple of others that did. "So I wasn't mistaken after all. You _are_ Rethan Agares' nephew, aren't you?" 

I hadn't even had to offer the bait—he'd bitten straight down on the bare hook. "I did have an uncle named Rethan, yes." A tall man, with dark green hair and a sparse beard he would stroke when he was trying to think . . . I pushed the memory aside. "If he were still alive, he'd probably have disowned me by now, along with the rest of my family. Still, I wish they'd had the chance." 

Milgazia nodded. "I was sorry to hear about what happened to your clan. You were fortunate to escape." 

_Bingo._ "Oh, I didn't, not entirely. I crawled out from under a pile of corpses while their murderers were busy digging a hole to bury them in. They'd assumed I was dead, too, but the bullets that hit me managed to miss anything vital." 

The Paladin's entire body jerked. " _What?!_ " 

I raised my voice, just a little bit. "Don't tell me you actually believed that bullshit about a plague. The Ancient Clan—all my family, all my friends—were killed by the Anaharan military. Did you think a plague burned down the houses? Left bullet holes in the walls at the school gym? Or did you even give enough of a damn to bother to check to see whether the buildings were still there or not?" 

The room had gone quiet, with just about everyone turning to stare. Gaav was grinning quite openly, watching everyone watching me. The Supreme Elder had frozen with his cane slightly raised, about to take a step. The handful of innocents in the room had turned various shades of white and pale green. Interestingly, that included Milgazia. Maybe he really was an honest man, poor bastard. 

"I believed in the honesty of the authorities," Milgazia said at last, his voice even although he was still slightly pale. "Apparently I was wrong in doing so. I will see that this is investigated. However, I must ask: why did you wait so long to come forward?" 

I gave him my best disgusted look. "I was fourteen, badly hurt, and scared shitless. I had every reason to believe that if anyone found out who I was, the news would get back to Anahar, and I'd be quietly deported and shot in the back. This is the first time I've been in a secure enough position to say anything. But believe me, now that I've spoken up, I'm not going to quiet down again." 

Conveniently, the Supreme Elder was standing some distance behind Milgazia. I offered him a feral grin over the other Paladin's shoulder. _Oh yes, I know. How could I not know?_

"Do you have any idea why such a thing might have happened?" Milgazia was asking. 

I shrugged. "Two reasons that I can think of. One is that my clan was always stubbornly Old Rite, and the current government in Anahar was voted in on a theocratic platform backed by your church. Which means we were in the way." I paused for a moment to let that sink in. "The other thing is that stupid rumour, or legend if you prefer, about us having some kind of superweapon. You can understand why that might have been interesting to . . . a certain kind of person." 

Well, then, hopefully that was enough bait. It was all tailored for different people, of course. The Supreme Elder needed to silence me. The Syndicate would want the supposed "superweapon", and me alive as a guide. Anahar would hopefully throw in with the Paladins—if not, we could probably arrange to mix in a large enough armed force invading their country to "secure" the area where I'd once lived that La Gioconda would feel she had to act if she wasn't going to look weak. 

And the best part was that they'd never believe we'd set it up on purpose. Not Gaav the thick-headed ape and his gutter trash boyfriend. _We should be on stage._

Gaav was laughing inside. I could tell from the tilt of his head and the way the corner of his mouth curled up. I figured I probably looked pretty much the same. 

Lina Inverse, of all people, was the first to unfreeze. She twisted her small, slender body past a couple of off-duty security types and poor Milgazia, until she was close enough to stick a finger in my face. "You! I want to interview you! This is an even bigger scoop than the Syndicate! And you've been hiding it the whole time—" 

"Okay, okay," I said quickly, holding up my hands to fend her off. "Tomorrow, alright?" 

She grinned. "Better set aside a good hour to talk to me, because I'm going to wring every bit of info you've got out of you." 

"I'll look forward to it," I lied. Actually, between Lina herself and the crap she was likely to dredge up inside my head, it was sure to be a painful experience . . . but I needed to do it anyway. The further the word spread, the less likely our targets were going to be able to pull out of all this. 

Dynast cleared his throat. "I think it's time now for the main event . . ." 

"Before your head explodes?" Gaav suggested, smirking. 

His brother glared at him. "You knew about this all along," he accused. 

"Well, of _course_ I did. If I were _that_ stupid, I'd have gotten killed by Phibby years ago. Didn't expect it to all come out here, but you know, shit happens." 

Now even Phibrizzo was trying not to laugh. 

"But yeah, sure, let's get down to business. Got to make sure I put my mark on Val, or he's going to run away." 

"More like I'm going to handcuff us together so that _you_ don't run away," I retorted. "I'm betting everything on this. On us. So you're not going to get rid of me." 

I wondered if anyone else could see the light in his eyes when I said that. I felt a little shiver inside when I realized I'd just made him genuinely _happy_. 

"There's no need to ask for everyone's attention, I guess," he said, taking two quick steps toward me and positioning himself so that we were facing each other. 

"I think we've already got it." I fumbled in my pocket as I spoke. His ring was in there . . . somewhere. Still in its little box, which I hadn't even opened for a look yet. 

"Looks that way. So. Val Agares. Will you marry me?" He didn't bother getting down on his knees—it would just have put our eyes on a level, anyway—but he did hold out my ring, its box finally open. I didn't have time to see more than a flash of silvery metal, though, because it was my turn now. 

"If you'll have me." If this had been real, I might have added, _I'm surprised you even have to ask._ But even if I wanted it to be, it wasn't real, it was just a play set up for the people watching us. A play with very expensive props, I reflected as he slid the ring onto my finger. The metal was warm from the time it had spent in his pocket. 

Then it was my turn. I almost dropped the little golden circle as I took it from the box. Thankfully my reflexes were better than they used to be, though, and I caught it in midair and slipped it onto his finger. His hand curled as I pulled back, as though he wanted to make sure the trinket stayed in place. 

_When we do this for real,_ I thought, then repeated it to myself. When _we do this for real, I don't want it to be a public event. Just him and me, in some quiet place where we don't have to pretend to be anything but what we really are._

We both stuck the little boxes, now empty, back in our pockets. Then he leaned down, and I tilted my head up, and we exchanged a quick kiss. I heard someone begin a catcall and get quickly hushed. This was way too stuffy a crowd for that kind of thing. 

We had to stick it out for a couple of hours after that, accepting congratulations and that kind of crap. Gravos got a little carried away when he slapped me on the back, but for the first time in my life, he wasn't able to stagger me. Which proved that the crap they were pumping me full of was doing me some good. 

It wasn't the nonsense with the ring that put the bright look on my face, though. It was the sense that everything was now, _finally_ , moving forward. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

Rezo. It's always fucking Rezo. 

I saw Val make that inventory of the room when the two thickheads turned up, and I'll bet his conclusions were just the same as mine. No one else in the family would think it was worth the effort to make that kind of subtle threat. Fuck, I'm surprised _Rezo_ bothered, or thought it would connect. 

I have a nasty suspicion my dear fucking uncle found out about Father Kotomine, maybe even spoke to some of the people I'd been associating with. I wasn't playing as stupid there, so if he did, he probably underestimates me a lot less now. I don't think he's told anyone, though. As usual, he has his own agenda that doesn't quite mesh with Dad's or the rest of the Syndicate's. But what the fuck does he want? Why Taforashia? Why _any_ of this shit? 

Who's really driving what's going on here? Him, or us? 

Val, though. I'm pretty fucking proud of him. He played that room like a master. Even managed to snag himself a journalist, although I'm not sure that hot-headed little grenade slinger would have been my first choice. Still, she strikes me as the kind who won't give up once she's caught the smell of a story in the air, and that might end up being just what we need. 

. . . I keep on looking down at it and feeling this grin, part smug and part goofy, cross my face. The ring, I mean. Even though it doesn't really mean anything. We're still wearing each other's rings. Kind of like a rehearsal for the real thing, I guess. And there's going to _be_ a real thing. I've promised myself that. He's just too perfect to let go.


	22. Chapter 22

I twisted the ring on my finger—I hadn't even had it a whole day yet, and it had already become an habitual nervous gesture. I almost felt guilty treating it that way, though, because it was _beautiful_. There was a tiny dragon, perfectly lifelike, coiled around my finger, grasping a sapphire with an off-center star in its talons. 

Plus, _he'd_ given it to me. Even if it was just a prop for a play, it meant something. Or maybe I just _wanted_ it to mean something. He and I really needed to talk. I knew that. There just hadn't been time yet. 

"So you're saying they went to each house and herded everyone out? Systematically? 

"Pretty much," I said, twisting the ring again. "I mean, I couldn't see what they were doing at the other end of town, but when they herded us all together outside the post office, I didn't notice anyone missing. Plus, they searched the houses, and then . . ." 

"Then?" Lina prompted. 

"They set fire to most of them," I said. And swallowed. It was that or throw up. 

Lina had the grace to wince. So did that Gourry guy, who was running the camera. "That must have been awful." 

"We haven't gotten to the worst part yet," I said grimly. "After they had everyone together, they marched us out to the other end of town at gunpoint. They must have hit Mason's Construction, just outside of town, first, because they were already working on digging the trench." 

"How big of a trench?" 

I shook my head. "The part they'd already finished was around ten feet wide, and maybe six feet deep. Classic." The expression that crossed my face then might have looked like some distant relative of a smile. To someone half-blind, that is. "They lined us up at the edge, or near where the edge was going to be, in my case, and . . . shot. My little brother was standing beside me. A bullet . . ." My voice cracked, and I stopped and took a deep breath before forcing the rest of it out. "A bullet smashed his head open. I was turning toward him, and a shot creased my forehead." I could feel the scar burning as I spoke. "It didn't quite knock me out, but I was dazed and shocky and lost my balance. I fell down among the . . . bodies. Got hit by a few more bullets along the way, but there was so much blood all over the place and I was so out of it that I didn't realize how many holes I had in me until later. I was damned lucky they missed all the organs and arteries, or I doubt I would have made it at all. One of the doctors here told me that I've still got a couple of bullets stuck inside." 

And for a moment, I was back there, hearing people scream and plead—for themselves, for their children, didn't matter, it was all met with equal indifference—feeling a weight fall on my back and the blood soaking into my clothes and seeing a length of loosely braided aqua hair flop into my field of vision and realizing that was my _mother_ on top of me, except she wasn't moving and there was blood soaking into the back of my shirt. And I couldn't do anything except lie there with my face in the muck on the ground and try to convince myself that this was a nightmare, all a horrible nightmare . . . 

"Val? Hey! Are you still with us?" 

I blew out a breath. "Ugh. Sorry. Flashback. It doesn't happen very often anymore, but when it does, it's like I'm back there for a few seconds. Anyway, I pulled myself together again a while after they'd stopped the shooting. I don't know how long after—I never wore a watch, and I'd left my phone back at the house—but the ones who had done the shooting had gathered in a lump some distance away, I think, to wait for the guys digging the hole to finish up. I slithered out from the pile and crawled on my belly over to a bunch of bushes about ten feet away and pretty much burrowed into them." 

"You didn't stand up?" 

I shook my head. "One of the shots had gone through the meat of my thigh. At the time, all I knew was my leg hurt and I couldn't get it under me. I was still pretty shocky and my thinking was all scrambled up." I felt that rictus of a smile cross my face again. "It probably saved my life. That and the fact they tramped around so much in the dark and hid my blood trail for me. They left a couple of hours after sunrise, after they'd thrown all the bodies into the pit and buried them. I think—" My voice cracked again. My shirt was soaked with sweat. "I think some of them might still have been alive when they started throwing the dirt back in. I don't know for sure. I don't think I want to." 

"So far, you've only referred to the people who did the shooting as 'they'," Lina said. Her expression was quietly sympathetic, but I could see her hand clutching white-knuckled at the arm of her chair, too low for the camera to be able to capture it. "Do you know who 'they' were?" 

"Mostly the army." 

"They were in uniform?" 

I knew the question was mainly to clarify things for whoever might end up watching the interview. Oh, hell, I wanted to get out of this chair and run. "Yes," I managed. 

"You said 'mostly'. Who do you think the others were?" 

I'd phrased things in that leading way on purpose, wanting her to ask the question, but it was getting more and more difficult to force the words out. "I saw some people who were dressed in what looked like the vestments worn by the Paladins of Gold when they make TV appearances. I didn't get very close to any of them, though, so I can't be sure they weren't fakes created by the army. It's just the kind of thing they'd do." 

"You aren't crying," Lina said, and I shook my head, looking away from her . . . but not from the camera. "I would be, in your place." 

"I won't, not until someone's brought to justice for this. Because once I let myself start, I don't know if I'm going to be able to stop." Truth. Ugly, painful truth. Crying might have cleansed something, and I wasn't ready for that yet. Not until I'd made their killers pay. So every time I might have been about to start, I'd stopped myself. 

Lina asked more questions, about what I'd done afterwards, and I told her about binding my wounds with strips torn from my pajamas and taking the back trail to the Falari farm and finding it deserted, the dog shot dead and the house burning. About taking the clothes and the old bicycle that Grandpa Falari kept in the barn and waiting in a tree near the road until I'd seen the soldiers leave, many of them driving stolen cars. I ended my story there—no need to tell anyone how I'd stowed away on a container ship and then gotten thrown off again at the first port. The only reason I hadn't been thrown off in the middle of the ocean was because I was obviously in rough shape and the first mate had taken pity on me, a little. From there I'd hitchhiked north until I hit Seyruun and finally felt safe enough to stop running. 

I ended the session with a soaked shirt. It felt like I'd run a marathon by the time Lina gestured at Gourry to turn off the camera. 

"Thanks, Val," the young journalist said. "You don't look so good." 

Actually, I felt like I wanted to throw up, but I forced a shrug instead. "It's difficult, going back there. I mean, it's always in the back of my mind, but dragging it out into the open like that . . ." I made a gesture that could have meant anything, and pushed myself up out of the chair. I didn't stop moving until I was inside our apartment. 

"I'm starting to think I should live in the shower," I said as I flung jacket and tie and sweaty shirt and shoulder holster at random chairs. 

"Might be a bit uncomfortable for sleeping," Gaav said, looking up from the guard rotation he was working on. "Are you okay?" 

"Just spooked." I forced myself to act like it was nothing much . . . even though we both knew that the thought of the interview had kept me from getting it up last night. In the end, Gaav had ruffled my hair with one big hand and gone to the bathroom to jerk himself off, rather than force things, even though he didn't need my cock to be functioning to fuck me. "I knew the interview was going to be tough, but I didn't expect it to be quite this bad. I'm probably lucky I only had the one flashback." 

"Well, it's done with now. With any luck, the next one won't be until after we drag the shitheads kicking and screaming out of their nice dark little holes." 

_Ceiphied, I hope so._ "I'm sorry about last night." 

Gaav snorted. "Really sorry, given the number of times you've said so. It isn't that big a deal. I mean, fuck, remembering some of the crap I've been through when we were on the losing side of a drug war down in the jungle isn't much of a turn-on for me, either, and that wasn't nearly as bad as what happened to you. And you've got to remember, I spent years doing that celibacy shit. One night isn't going to kill me. Just let it go, and go have your shower. I've got an interview with those idiot friends of yours in half an hour, and I want you there." 

Jillas and Gravos. What with everything else going on, I'd almost forgotten about the two of them. "Right. I'll be back in a minute." 

As I did a quick soap and rinse, I reflected that I was starting to understand why the wardrobe Gaav had had prepared for me included what I'd originally thought was a ridiculous number of shirts. Hell, maybe all the crap they'd pumped me full of even made me sweat more. I was pretty sure that _Phibby_ would have considered that a fair trade. 

Fresh shirt. More deodorant—unscented, in deference to my partner's sensitivities. Put the holster and the tie back on, switch the jacket for the one with the discreet logo and "Security" embroidery that I wore most of the time when doing official stuff. Then back to the main room. 

"Feeling better?" Gaav asked, and I nodded. "Good. Before we go, there's something I've been meaning to do for a while now, but it never quite seemed like the right time. Maybe now it is." 

He loosened his tie, reached down the front of his shirt, and pulled out something small and metallic. The medallion my mother had given me, so very long ago. 

"I've been wearing this ever since you gave it to me, but I figure it should go back to you now. It's the only thing of theirs you've got, right? Other than yourself. I kept it . . . because I wanted to be sure you'd stay, I guess. But you having it is more important. Still, you'd better keep that ring, got it?" 

He unfastened the chain and held it out to me while I stood there searching for words. 

"I'm not going anywhere." It was all I could force past the lump in my throat. I was not, I told myself, blinking rapidly, going to start crying here. Not after spending so long fighting against it. That part of what I'd said to Lina had been the truth. 

Gaav gave me a single, sharp nod as I lifted the pendant from his hand and fastened the chain back around my neck. 

The only thing of theirs I had, except for myself. I'd never thought of it that way before. _Except for myself._ My body and mind and soul, if there were such things as souls. Things I could never lose. Things that would bind me to those lost ones for as long as I lived. 

"And don't you leave _your_ ring anywhere either," I said, and my lover grinned. 

"Wouldn't dream of it. Now, we'd better get going, or we're going to be late." 

Downstairs in one of the smaller conference rooms, I discovered that Jillas in a suit—once again borrowed and ill-fitting—looked even more uncomfortable than Jillas in a tux. Gravos hadn't even tried to dress up, and was wearing faded jeans and an old band T-shirt. I wasn't sure which of them looked more out of place. 

Gaav snorted as he looked them over. "So, what do you think I'm supposed to do with the two of you? I know you both have lousy judgement, and I don't have any use for a fucking comedy act." 

Gravos shuffled and looked at his feet. Jillas swallowed, then said, "I don't know about judgement, but Gravos here is big and strong—that has to be worth something to you. And I'm good with electronics and explosives and stuff." 

"Before we get to that, there's some stuff I don't understand," Gravos said. "Like why you were pretending to be a priest. You were just pretending, right?" 

Gaav shrugged. "I was hiding from my fucking family. Having a dead priest's passport fall into my lap just when I needed it was almost enough to start me actually believing in Ceiphied." 

"And Val? Do you really love him?" 

"What the fuck does that have to do with anything?" 

Gravos got a mulish expression on his face. "It matters to me." 

"To us," Jillas corrected. He flinched at Gaav's expression, but kept staring my lover in the face. 

I sighed, knowing that the two of them wouldn't give up until they had their answer. "Yes, Jillas, we love each other." 

"Wasn't asking you, Boss. He might have tricked you again, like he tricked us all back in Seyruun." Gravos gave me a mulish look. 

Gaav rolled his eyes. "Yes, I love him. Fucking stupid of me, but there you have it. We'll invite you to the wedding. Happy now?" 

Waves of hot and cold ran through me as Jillas squeaked, " _Wedding?_ " 

It had to be the most back-handed proposal I'd ever heard of, but I wasn't going to say no. I twisted the ring on my finger and glanced at Gaav, but he wasn't looking at me. 

"Can you do that?" Gravos said aloud. "I mean, Val isn't a girl." 

My turn to roll my eyes. "Just because a man can't marry another man in Seyruun doesn't mean it's impossible everywhere, Gravos. What did you think we were getting engaged for?" 

"They do it as a statement of intent in some places, Boss," Jillas pointed out. "Even people who can't ever get married." 

"Well, that isn't why _we_ did it," I said firmly. "Any more burning questions you just _have_ to ask?" 

Jillas and Gravos exchanged a look, and both shook their heads. 

"Guess that's it, Boss," Gravos said, sounding a bit sheepish. "Sorry." 

"So, getting back to what we _came here_ to talk about," Gaav growled. "You two want to stick with Val, that's obvious. Jillas, your skills are the kind we can probably find a place for, but you, Gravos . . . there's only one job here for a big, thick-headed lunk: security grunt. So I need to know: If I handed you a gun, and pointed to some guy, and told you to shoot him, would you be able to do it? The rest, Val can help you work on, but that part isn't negotiable." 

Gravos seemed to take it seriously, at least. I could almost see the top of his head heating up as he tried to think it through. At last, he nodded. "I trust the boss, and the boss trusts you, so . . . yeah. 'Cause I don't think you'd tell me to do it if it wasn't important." 

"Think again," I said quietly. "We're not heroes, and we're about to get involved in some dangerous shit. Shit that you told me yourselves you wanted to stay out of." 

Jillas tilted his head to one side. "We thought about that after you . . . left. Took us a while, but we figured out that the reason we felt so lousy about it was that it felt like we'd let you down. I mean, you stuck your neck out for us in a big way. We should be willing to do the same for you." 

I exchanged a glance with Gaav, who nodded to me. I licked my lips. "Well, then, I guess I should say . . . welcome aboard." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I have to admit, I'm glad to have someone I can trust, in a pinch, to guard his back when I'm not there. Even if it has to be those two idiots. The big one, Gravos, will probably make a decent grunt even if he's got all the brains of a rock. He's smart enough to understand "don't let Val get shot", and that's all that matters. 

The little guy, Jillas, is going to be more of a handful. He wasn't kidding about the fucking explosives—seems that he was responsible for a couple of incidents the police back in Seyruun never did quite figure out. I've packed him off to work with Dolphin for now. Maybe she can teach him a thing or two. And keep him away from things that go bang. 

I'd like to have them enhanced, but there's no time. Everything's going to come to a head within the next month or two, and I can't afford to have them puking their guts out and hiding from the sun when it does. Good thing Val's only got a couple more days to go on the shots. 

How the fuck am I supposed to deal with being responsible, not just for Val, but for this pair of losers? 

Val . . . Oh, fuck, Val. It was him I was watching when I made that crack about inviting the losers to our wedding, and there was a second where you would have thought the sun had just risen. He hid it quickly, but it does give me hope. That he wants what I want. 

I'm going to make time for the two of us to talk tonight. I wanted to do it last night, but Val kind of freaked after the third time he lost his hard-on. I guess he's never had that kind of shit happen to him before. Of course, he's young. I've got to remember that. It's tough sometimes, because some parts of him are so much older than the others. 

I still love every bit of him, though. No matter what age it is.


	23. Chapter 23

There was still more work to do that day, of course. I went from the gym to the firing range to the security command center, following Gaav, while Gravos followed me. Gravos was a bit shocked the first time I dumped him on his ass in the gym, with Gaav grinning approvingly. Well, Gravos was just going to have to get used to the idea. I was a _lot_ stronger now, although I still didn't measure up to even the weakest comic-book superhero. Well, maybe Batman. 

At the firing range, Gravos proved to be a crappy shot. His hands were steady enough once he got used to the kick of a pistol, but he took too long to aim. Give him a target that moved even a little, and it would probably be able to walk up and tweak him on the nose before he managed to shoot it. Hopefully practice would fix that. I'd improved a fair amount since I'd first held a gun, both in terms of the tightness of my groupings and the distance I could accurately hit a target at. 

Gaav was back to what he must have been like in his early prime, hitting moving targets with fist-sized groupings at maximum distance and high speed. He ran through a dozen or more rounds for each of the guns he normally carried, including the concealed hold-out that always looked so tiny in his hand. Since they all took different calibers, he had to carry a lot of extra ammunition on him, but that never seemed to bother him. 

The visit to the command center was mostly for my benefit. Gaav had been going over the routine security setup for the building bit by bit for the past couple of weeks, explaining things like the reasons for the lengths and paths of patrols and the placement of guards and cameras, and evaluating any interesting incidents that the cameras happened to catch while we were there. Actually, for the past couple of days, he'd been having _me_ evaluate the incidents and explain what the staff had done right or wrong. I think Gravos slept through that part, except for the few minutes after Gaav kicked him in the ankle. Which was just as well, since I had a long way to go before my commentary on that kind of crap would be much good. 

After we left the command center, we were supposed to do lunch and then "Aircraft Familiarization", which would have more accurately been called "how to land a helicopter without crashing it and killing everyone inside". Thankfully it was just a simulator and not a real helicopter, or I'd have already cost the Syndicate millions. 

That was what we were _supposed_ to do. Until we ran into someone in the hall—literally, in Gravos' case, when he continued a little too far past the corner Gaav and I had just turned. 

"Oops! Uh, sorry. I'm kind of clumsy." Gravos scratched the back of his head and chuckled nervously. 

"It's fine." It took me a moment to recognize the voice as Milgazia's. "Have you seen your friend Mr. Agares? We need to talk to him." Oh, crap. 

"Mr.— Oh, you mean _Val_. Yeah, he's right here." I could see enough of Gravos to be able to tell he was waving his hand in the direction of the cross-corridor Gaav and I were in. I repressed a sigh and turned back toward the main hallway. I could hear Gaav's footsteps behind me, too. 

Yeah, it was Milgazia, all right. And that teenaged priestess niece of the Supreme Elder—was her name Filia? I thought that was it. 

"I'm here," I said. "What do you want, Mr. Ul Rechis? We were just on our way to lunch." 

Milgazia raised his eyebrows. "Ah. Might we join you, then? This may take a while to discuss." 

I shrugged. "I'm not sure what the rules about inviting people to the employee cafeteria are . . ." Magnus Enterprises fed its employees for free. Not that it was on a level with what we could get if we went back up to the apartment and called for room service, just generic soup-salad-sandwich stuff, but we hadn't been planning on more than a quick meal. 

"They'll have to pay a cover charge," Gaav said from behind me. "No other requirements." 

"Then please lead the way," Milgazia said. 

The cafeteria offered four kinds of soup, eighteen kinds of sandwiches, and prepackaged salads in three different sizes, along with tea, coffee, and bottled juice and water. Filia looked a bit surprised when Gaav and I each grabbed a medium garden salad before moving on to the more substantial food, but one of the things my lover had been pounding into me was that it was difficult to maintain my body as it was now on just bread and meat. Both of our guests appeared to be vegetarian, or at least they took salads and the squash soup, and Milgazia added some kind of sandwich involving eggplant to that. It was weirdly incongruous with my memories of the Paladins as vicious killers. Gravos, of course, just cheerfully grabbed anything whose description was simple enough for him to be able to read it. Ham and cheese, roast beef, tuna salad . . . which was the only kind of salad he took. Between Gaav, Gravos, and me, we must have emptied half the trays, and as we went over to find a table, some of the staff scurried out from the back with more sandwiches. 

We sat down at a six-person table near the back. 

"So, what did you want to talk about?" I prompted. 

The two Paladins exchanged looks. "We watched the raw footage of your interview," Milgazia said, then stopped. 

"Go on." I had a feeling I knew what he wanted to ask, but damned if I was going to make it easy for him. Instead, I started in on my salad. 

"You said you saw people wearing uniforms like ours participating in the slaughter of your clan. Can you tell me more about that?" 

I shrugged. "Just what I said: I saw some people wearing stuff that looked an awful lot like what you're wearing right now. I can't really be more exact than that—a lot of the details of what happened that night are kind of fuzzy. I probably had a concussion towards the end." I touched the scar on my forehead, and grimaced. 

I felt a little bit bad about lying to Milgazia, really . . . but only a little. I'd said before that I wanted the world to know what the Paladins had done, but there was a blob of molten hate deep inside me that said that wasn't good enough, that those directly responsible should pay for their murders in flesh and blood. I wasn't going to let Milgazia just bring them to trial, assuming I could make him believe me and assuming he could manage to get the Supreme Elder into a courtroom despite the politics. I wanted the old buzzard dead and strung up as an offering to those he'd killed. Maybe then I'd be able to find some kind of closure. 

I felt Gaav's hand sneak along under the table to give my leg a quick squeeze, and shook my head to clear out the cobwebs. Milgazia had been saying something, but I hadn't caught it. "Sorry—what were you saying?" 

"Do you think there's any way to jog your memory?" 

"Mr. Milgazia, do we really need to do that?" That was the priestess-girl Filia, speaking up for the first time. "There's obviously no way any Paladin could have been a willing participant in something so horrible!" 

I gave her a sneer. "Well, you're certainly naive. Do you really think the Paladins are immune to being human? Why are you even here?" 

"Because I felt sorry for you, you . . . you compost heap!" 

I have to admit, that brought me up short. "Compost . . . heap?" I'd heard goofy insults before, but that one took the cake. It was all I could do not to burst out laughing. 

"Oh, _Fiiiilia_!" sang a familiar voice from across the room. " _There_ you are!" And a moment later, there was a Xellos beside our table. "I was starting to be worried about you! I never expected you to duck out on our tour—" 

Filia gave him an incandescent glare. It looked like her hair was trying to stand on end. "I went to change after you got my clothes all wet, you raw garbage! I'd rather take a tour of the sewers than spend one minute longer with you!" 

"I really am sorry about that!" Xellos might even have come across as sincere if he hadn't had a grin plastered across his face. "I didn't think that it would—" 

"Arrgh! You—you—" Filia was not only bright red, but rapidly getting incoherent. Suddenly, she sprang to her feet and aimed a punch at Xellos' jaw. The purple-haired teen dodged, but then Filia grabbed the chair she'd been sitting on and tried to hit him with that. He dodged that too, but when she didn't seem inclined to stop, he had to run for it. People stared as the chair-wielding priestess chased Zelas' son through the cafeteria and out into the hall. 

"Are they . . . gonna be okay?" Gravos said. 

Gaav snorted. "Xellos has had more self-defense training than most of the security guards—and if it gets really bad, security'll break it up. He'll be fine. Maybe he'll even learn a thing or two about when to keep his mouth shut, although I doubt it." 

"It almost looked to me like he _wanted_ her to beat him senseless," I said. 

"Puppy love," Gaav said with that twisted grin of his. "And a priestess who needs anger management courses, from the look of it." 

Milgazia sighed. "The Supreme Elder has indulged Filia and her tantrums a great deal over the years. It's made her . . . difficult. And difficult to say 'no' to. As when she attached herself to me while I was looking for you." 

"I didn't think you intended her to be in on this conversation," my lover rumbled. 

Milgazia muttered something about "locking her up", so softly that I couldn't hear the whole thing. "To return to what I came here to ask: Mr. Agares, are you certain there's no way you might be able to say for certain whether the 'Paladins' you saw that night were real or impostors?" 

I shrugged. "Maybe if I went . . . back there. It's the only thing I haven't tried." Truth and lies, carefully mixed. Sprinkle a little sugar on top and serve. And once again Milgazia was lapping it up. 

"I'm a little surprised you haven't returned before now." 

"For a long time, I wouldn't have had money to travel that far." True. "And now that I do . . . I'm a little reluctant. The flashbacks I get from just talking about it are bad enough." Also true, damnit. I'd have to face up to that when the time came. 

"Then why not let the dead stay dead?" 

I glared at the Paladin. "Because in my mind, they're _not_ dead. They're _dying_. Right here, right now, every day, in constant pain! And for all I know, down in Anahar at this very moment, the army is breaking down someone else's door and hauling them out into the street to be shot!" A violent movement of my hand almost sent Filia's unattended tray tumbling from the table, but Gaav caught my wrist, met my eyes, and shook his head. _Not yet,_ his expression said. _Not here. Not now._

_Not until we're ready._

I took a deep breath, forcing calm on myself. Sometimes it seemed like every time I had to do that, something inside me bent a little farther, warping out of shape . . . but I couldn't bring myself to care very much. If this was the price I had to pay to get what I wanted, then I'd pay it. 

"I need closure, and more than that, I need to fix this so that it never happens to anyone else again." Lies, with just enough truth to make it sound sincere. I didn't really give a damn what might happen to some random innocent. But that truth wasn't likely to be palatable to someone like Milgazia. He was too much of a straight arrow. 

"I see," he said now. 

Gaav set his hand on my shoulder. "Finish your lunch, Val. It's going to be a long afternoon." 

And oh, hell, it was. Aircraft Familiarization, and then outside for some parkour and "Tactical Training", or how to deploy a squad of soldiers or security people in various situations. Gravos, after having been sent away to pick up new his kit and have himself assigned an apartment while I was crashing the helicopter simulator, rejoined us for that last segment. He was better at taking orders than I had expected, although actually pulling his new gun made him nervous as hell. He even dropped it once, although thankfully he had the safety on. 

I was really, really glad when supper rolled around. Especially when I found out that Gaav had called off my after-dinner etiquette lesson with Zelas in favour of giving us both a break. 

As usual, Gaav was the one who ordered the evening meal (while I was in the shower yet again), so I didn't know what we were going to be eating until the cart arrived. I was hungry, so I plunged right in and started lifting tray covers. 

What I found underneath made me wonder what Gaav was trying to lead up to. Chicken in lero sauce, steamed millet . . . even ahlava, which as far as I knew was strictly a dish served among the southern clans, because the kind of squash you need only grows in the area settled by my ancestors and Milgazia's. This could have been a holiday meal from my childhood home, and I was sure it wasn't a coincidence. I was doubly sure when I looked up and found Gaav watching me intently. 

"Somehow I don't think this is to congratulate me for having added two new idiots to the Ruby-Eye Syndicate's payroll," I said. 

Gaav shook his head. "Of course not. It's because . . . well . . ." He twisted his engagement ring on his finger, in a gesture not unlike the one I'd been developing lately. 

"It isn't like you to be at a loss for words," I said . . . and then a lump of ice started forming in my belly. "Or is this a send-off gift? Should I go pack up my stuff?" 

"Hell, no!" he snapped. "I just . . . ah, fuck . . ." His face began to develop a reddish tinge, and I stared. Was he actually . . . blushing? Or . . . 

"If you have a fever, you're going straight down to Medical," I said sharply. "No matter how much you hate it." 

I tried to reach for his forehead, but he batted my hand away and roared, "Would you just give me a fucking _minute_! This isn't easy, you know." 

" _What_ isn't easy? That's what I'm trying to figure out." 

He gritted his teeth, visibly getting even redder. "I just wanted to ask—would you marry me? For real, and not just as a part of the plan? I know it's only been a few months and I said we should wait, but I've never been surer of anything in my life. That I want you. Beside me. Forever." 

"I thought you'd already figured that out when I didn't chew you out after you invited Jillas and Gravos to our wedding this morning. After all, the plan never went that far." I smirked as I said it. I doubted I'd ever see him this flustered again, and damned if some part of me wasn't enjoying it, just a little. _I wonder if he was this awkward when his parishioners came to him for marriage counseling. I mean, that's got to have happened at least once._

"Then—" 

"Of course I'll marry you. Even if you're a total idiot when it comes to figuring this crap out. After all, I'm not much better, or I would have proposed _weeks_ ago." And as punctuation, I grabbed him and kissed him, long and hard. 

By the time we parted, the red colour had faded from his face, and his expression had become a definite leer. "I'm tempted to have a little celebration right here and now," he said, planting a quick kiss on my jaw, then another on my neck. I tilted my head to offer him better access. 

"So why don't we?" 

"The food'll get cold." 

My first instinct was to say, _so what?_ Then my big brain caught up with my little one. The meal was a _gift_ , his gift to me, chosen with care, and it shouldn't be treated that way. 

"Then let's eat quickly," I said. 

The first mouthful of chicken had to be pushed down past a lump in my throat, past a sudden memory of my grandmother, whose signature dish it had been. She'd been one of the lucky ones, though—she'd died peacefully in the hospital a few months before the soldiers came. I hadn't even had time to process her death before my world fell apart around me. 

Memorials. Maybe I should learn how to cook the stuff. She'd probably have appreciated that more than the crap I was getting myself into now, once she got over the idea of a man being in the kitchen. At her house that had always been _her_ domain, forbidden to males past puberty, the borders enforced by liberal application of the broomstick and rolling pin to errant male hands, feet, and heads. 

I shook my head slightly and tried the ahlava. As I'd suspected, it wasn't quite right—they'd used the wrong squash. Close, though. Very close. 

Gaav was eating slowly, watching me. His gaze seemed to have an unfamiliar warmth to it, and every so often, he'd smirk for no apparent reason. 

"Am I really that entertaining to watch?" I asked. 

"To me, you are," came the reply, along with an even broader smirk. 

I rolled my eyes. _Should have known._ Although I had to admit, I liked to watch him myself. Not when he was eating so much, but when he was doing something physical. After all, it was his body I had first fallen for—all those well-toned muscles. Well, okay, his body, and that nasty crooked grin that said he was laughing at someone else's expense. And in less than half an hour, I was going to be feeling up that body again, and kissing that grin off his face, neither of which ever seemed to get old . . . 

"And now you're making eyes at me," he said. "Know what I'm thinking of doing to you right now?" 

"I can guess." Since my thoughts were wandering along similar lines. Similar, but not the same. I forced myself to keep the fork moving, to continue eating, because I didn't want to be hungry later, but through it all, my subconscious continued along its path until I blurted out, "Would you ever let me . . . uh . . ." 

A bushy red eyebrow rose just slightly. "Let you what?" 

Now it was my turn to blush . . . but now that I'd said it, I knew I'd look and feel like less of an idiot if I just got it over with. "Let me be on top. Sometime. Not tonight." I'd never even considered it before now, but if we were going to be married, there was no Ceiphied-damned way I'd play the part of the weak little wife and bottom all the time . . . and honestly, he did have a very nice ass. 

His eyebrows were both headed for his hairline now, which was always an interesting thing to watch. "If you really want to, I suppose. Bottoming doesn't do much for me, but it doesn't bother me or anything. So long as you promise to suck me off, afterwards." 

"Sure." Just imagining it was making me hard . . . him on his back underneath me, legs spread, that smirk still on his face . . . or maybe it would be better to have him on his stomach, so that I could give my full attention to his ass, spreading it, kneading the muscles, maybe even a bit of rimming before I got down to business . . . Bottoming with other partners might not have done much for him, but I was going to try my utmost to show him just how good it could be. "Are you done eating? Because if you are, I'm ready for dessert." 

My fiance chuckled. "So am I. For a while now." He pushed his chair back a bit, revealing the good-sized lump in his pants, and I swallowed hard to keep myself from drooling. Gaav pulled a half-empty tube of lube from his pocket and added, with that familiar nasty grin, "The back of the sofa's about the right height." 

"In here?" I said, a bit startled . . . but the idea was already growing on me. A dirty little quickie in the middle of the living room . . . oh, yeah, that had possibilities. I licked my lips. 

"Unless you don't want to." 

"Oh, no, I want to, all right." I pushed myself to my feet and began undoing my belt buckle as I padded across the floor. Then I dropped my pants and pulled myself up onto the back of the sofa, still wearing most of my clothes. The leather was slick, and it took a bit of work to keep myself balanced. Especially while I was grinding my hard-on into it. 

"I should take a picture of you like this. And have it framed." Gaav's big hands cupped my ass, his thumbs spreading my crack. I gave a breathless laugh as I felt the head of his cock slide into place against the ring of muscle there. 

"And hang it in the conference room. Why not? It isn't like it would be telling anyone anything they didn't know already except the exact position of that scar on my leg." 

Then I howled as he pushed forward, filling me with a single thrust. I'd never felt so full before—not that Gaav's cock was any bigger than it had ever been, but the total lack of prep made it feel that way. And I loved it: the fullness, the burning stretch, the shifting pressure on my prostate as he began to pump in and out. I groaned deeply and mimicked his motion, impaling myself deeper and then thrusting down against the couch, because if I didn't move I knew I was going to fly apart. I barely even noticed when I started to slide sideways off the sofa. 

"You're not getting away," my lover growled, and steadied me, bracing my hips with his huge hands. "Not _ever_." I had the sudden impression that if I could see his face right now, his eyes would be glowing balefully red, and oh _damn_ that was a turn-on and was there a word for that noise I was making as I felt my balls tighten and begin to draw up? _Not yet,_ I told the lower half of my body. It didn't seem to be listening. _Not until he—oh, fuck—_

I howled again as I erupted helplessly, making a sticky mess of myself and the couch back, my ass fluttering around my lover's erection. Gaav made a low growling noise, thrusting a couple more times, erratically but hard, before he came. 

Afterwards, I sprawled there feeling pleasantly wrung out, with my lover's softening cock still inside me and what was probably a goofy grin on my face. Because just then, I felt like the luckiest man alive. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

. . . nearly laughed my ass off when he suggested putting that very wicked hypothetical picture of him up on the wall of the conference room. Wouldn't that just get Phibby's goat? And Dynast's. And Dad's. Especially when Dolphin would start trying to analyze it, which, knowing her, she would do. 

And asking if he could top me. Right out of the blue, when I'd thought he was content to be submissive in bed, if nowhere else. I should have fucking well known better. Funny how the idea has a certain amount of attraction, even though I've never cared for it much before. 

He's perfect. And he keeps surprising me. I'd never have thought that was possible. I suppose it's no surprise that I want him forever, under those circumstances. 

On a more serious note, Dynast came looking for me during what was just about the only part of the day that Val and I weren't together—the tactical exercise. Once little brother and I got past all the posturing crap that I always have to go through with him, since he's so fucking insecure in his masculinity that just looking at me seems to unhinge something in him, he _finally_ told me that Dad wants to talk to us. Well, to Val, really, but Baby Brother sees Val as a crass little punk who couldn't keep an appointment if his life depended on it. So he told me instead. 

I made a big show of not understanding what it was supposed to be about, so it's a good thing I learned early on to lie with a straight face. The Plan seems to be moving forward quite nicely. 

I wish I were happier about that. I still feel like I've missed something. In the old days, failing wouldn't have mattered to me all that much, but now . . . Val might be hurt. 

Fuck, I've turned into such a . . . a . . . There's got to be a word, doesn't there? For an idiot who holds someone else's happiness higher than his own? This is the first time I've ever thought my fucking vocabulary was deficient.


	24. Chapter 24

Lei Magnus' office took up half a floor of the building, a couple of levels above the conference room. I hated it from the moment I stepped inside. Black marble floor. Dark wood paneling on the walls. Like the room was trying to absorb all the light it could possibly get its tentacles on. 

The only bit of real colour anywhere was the old man's tie, a bright blood red that matched Rezo's robes. I didn't like that either. It was a colour that should, in my opinion, be reserved for Gaav's magnificent mane of hair. 

"So you're the last survivor of the Ancient Clan," my future father-in-law (now, there was a horrible thought, but with any luck he'd be in jail by the time we had the wedding) said. "You knew, didn't you, Gaav? You're not that stupid. Why didn't you tell me?" 

My boyfriend shrugged carelessly. "Didn't figure it mattered. After all, that crap went down a while ago, and we don't have any interests in Anahar that _I_ know of." 

Lei Magnus gave us both a cold glare. I sneered back at him. _Act hostile and stupid,_ Gaav had told me as we were dressing for this interview. _That's what he expects, and I don't want him to have any reason to take a closer look at us._

The older man sighed. "I suppose I should know better than to expect you to have any political sense, and . . . Val . . . is unsurprisingly cut from the same cloth." 

Gaav tilted his head to one side. "That the only reason you called us up here?" 

Lei Magnus gave his middle son an exasperated look. "No, not really. Would you please be quiet for a moment?" He rubbed his forehead as though to stave off a headache. 

Gaav smirked and folded his arms. _It's a game,_ he'd told me earlier. _I get more points if I get him more pissed off while giving less away. Not exactly nice of me, I know, but the truth is that I hate the man, and anyway, it started when I was still a kid. Plus, the more juvenile shit I keep on doing, the dumber he thinks I am._

_Just make sure you drop the act again when we leave,_ I'd said, and he'd laughed. In here, it didn't seem like a laughing matter, though. 

The leader of the Ruby-Eye Syndicate smiled. I'd seen more reassuring expressions on a shark. "Val. The legend you mentioned, about your clan having custody of some sort of weapon . . . what else can you tell me about it?" 

_Bingo._ "If you want to know if it really exists, the answer is that I have no clue. I was _fourteen_ when everyone died, for Ceiphied's sake! The Elders wouldn't have discussed secret clan stuff with a teenaged kid." 

"Your grandfather was an Elder." 

Well, yeah, he had been. "He never talked about his work in front of the family." Not entirely true, but Granddad's ranting about how two particular idiot farmers and their idiot feud took up much more of the Council's time than they deserved wasn't something that I could pass off as being relevant even by acting like I was so dumb I had two brain cells and one was busy trying to find the other. 

"Hmm." My future father-in-law steepled his hands. "Let me rephrase that: if your people _did_ have a . . . weapon, where would they have hidden it?" 

I pretended to think hard. "Somewhere in the Great Temple, maybe. There had to be some reason the Elders held their meetings in that pile of rocks. Or they could have buried it, I guess, depending on what it was." 

Lei Magnus made a small gesture, visibly swatting the idea of buried treasure to one side. Which was too bad—I could have led them on a nice wild goose chase all over the plateau, showing them "likely" burial sites. Well, we never had thought that that part would work. "This Great Temple. Is it still standing?" 

I shrugged. "Don't know for sure, but probably. Like I said, it's all stone, so it couldn't have burned." _And we found it on a satellite photo not three days ago._

"Did the soldiers get inside?" 

Another shrug. "Probably. But if they'd found anything, you'd know, wouldn't you? The inside of that place is crazy, anyway. There's at least five basements, and all these hidden rooms and stuff. Granddad showed me a couple of them once, and I found a couple more on my own." There. _Come on, fishy-fishy-fish, bite down on the nice juicy worm . . ._

Sure enough, my future father-in-law perked up. "Could you find them again?" 

"Probably. Maybe more of them, even, now that I wouldn't have to dodge the other Elders to keep them from sending me back upstairs. It'd be difficult for me to teach someone else, though—some of them you have to open by following the patterns of one of the old festival dances on the floor tiles." Also true, actually, but was I pushing too hard? This guy was difficult to read. For all I knew, he might have worked out that we were trying to get some Syndicate people to go with us to the site, and was just giving me enough rope to hang us both. 

"Hmmm," was all he said. "Gaav, if I asked you to secure this 'Great Temple', what would you need to do it?" 

"I'd have to look over the terrain," my lover rumbled. "And see what state the roads are in, especially if no one's been up that way since Val had to leave. There's no airstrip, I know that. I can get back to you with an answer tonight." 

"Very well. Assume that Dynast will be accompanying you, and keep in mind that we want to keep a low profile. That should suffice. You're dismissed, both of you." 

I gritted my teeth and turned away, not wanting to make a fool of myself by backing towards the door. I was supposed to be too stupid to notice the tension in the air, after all. I was grateful when Gaav slipped his arm around my waist, so that we covered the last few steps to the door side by side. 

The residential floors were just above the executive offices, so rather than use the elevator, we hit the fire stairs, climbing quickly and without speaking. Gaav used his Syndicate pendant to open the door back out of the dimly lit concrete stairwell, and then again to let us into the apartment, where I flopped down on the bench in the entryway without even taking my gun off my belt. 

"This is all going way too smoothly," I said, the moment I knew we wouldn't be overheard. 

"I wish I didn't agree with you," my lover rumbled. "I keep on expecting the other fucking shoe to drop. Rezo's been too quiet. Phibby too, for that matter. Guess I'm going to have to put some work into drawing the pint-sized freak into this. Anyway, it's time to line up the details for Phase Two. You know what that means." 

I nodded. Phase One was just getting everyone's attention, and we'd done that. Phase Two was setting up for the kill, and it involved a lot of tricks and traps. We didn't have enough people we could trust, so to some extent we were going to have to play just about everyone. A scary idea. And a lot of hard work. 

"I drew up the map of the third basement level of the Great Temple this morning," I said. "I still need to do the fourth and fifth. There were big parts of those I never saw, though." 

"Mmh. And Dolphin said she's gotten some better satellite photos." Gaav began to strip off his guns and put them away. I grimaced, pulled the magazine from my pistol, and slotted both pieces into the box beside his. 

"I hate the satellite photos," I admitted. You could see clearly which buildings were still standing and which had burned. Too many memories, too much time spent putting all my effort into refusing to cry. And yet I was the only one left who knew what the various buildings had been, and which ones we might be able to use, so I had to be the one to annotate the print-outs. 

Yeah, we were doing everything on paper. Even with Dolphin on our side, Gaav didn't want to entrust any of our plans to the Syndicate's computer system. Or at least, not the real plans. Some information would end up going in eventually, but it would be chosen with care, to give the impression we wanted. 

It was scary just how many bits and pieces Gaav was juggling. Everything involved in The Plan, plus his job as the Syndicate security-paramilitary head, plus the politics, plus training me. I didn't know how he could keep track of it all—I was having a hard enough time with just The Plan, plus learning everything he wanted to teach me. There were some things that worried me, though. First, the level in the ibuprofen bottle in the bathroom had taken a nosedive since we'd gotten here. We'd started with a big five hundred tablet jug, nearly full, but they kept disappearing, and I wasn't the one taking them. And the other thing was his drinking. A couple of times now, I'd come home from my etiquette lessons and found him on the couch with an empty rum or whiskey bottle on the floor within arm's reach, not just beer. He never _seemed_ drunk, but given his size and all the dubious medical crap he'd been subjected to, he might have to down a _lot_ of liquor just to get a brief buzz on. 

I'd promised myself that if it was just those things and nothing worse, I wouldn't bring it up. I'd made a point of picking up one of the whiskey bottles in front of him and looking it over, so he knew I knew. Hopefully once The Plan was executed and he was under less stress, he'd drop back to beer again. If not, we could talk about it then. 

Hell, sometimes all of this made me want to get roaring drunk myself. The only thing that stopped me was the thought of having to go through my typical day with a hangover. A lot of the time, I barely made it even when I started out in good shape. 

"Were you serious about the festival dance thing?" he was asking now. 

"Yeah. Actually, the two doors I know of that do that key to different festival dances, and there might be more that need others. Some of them may need ones I don't know—I mean, I never learned the girls' dances." 

"Can you teach me?" 

"I can try, I guess . . . but most of it's muscle memory," I admitted, with another grimace. "Hell, I'm not sure _I_ remember the dances well enough to get those doors open again. It might be easier just to get Jillas to blow holes in them or something." 

"It might come to that." Gaav closed and locked the gun box, then beckoned me to follow him into the main room. "Just how good is Jillas with that shit? I mean, if I handed him a couple of pounds of plastic explosive and some detonators, would he know how to use them to make shaped charges for precision work, or does he just play around with black powder and stage pyrotechnics?" 

"He knows something about the plastic stuff, but I don't know how much he's actually used it." And I only knew that much because Jillas had been very, very high one night and talking about his crazy friends from when he was in university and some of the crap they'd gotten into together. Which reminded me . . . "Don't let him at anything that might go bang unless you're a hundred percent certain he's not drunk or high, by the way. Or it _will_ go bang, and not when and where you want it to either, if you catch my meaning." 

"Why am I not too fucking surprised?" Gaav sat down on one end of the couch, and I settled beside him, leaning against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around me in a gesture that was becoming automatic, but not—I hoped—because he was starting to take me for granted. "Still, if he's any good at all, it means we don't have to pull in someone we might not be able to trust to help us with the booby traps. I can get equipment by the truckload, but Raltaak's the best I've got with demolition, and ultimately he's loyal to Dad, not me. Hell, I was afraid I was going to have to do it all myself." 

I gave him a Look. "Seriously? When were you intending to sleep?" I didn't bother with, _why not ask me to help?_ Because I knew why. He wanted to take what he was teaching me in some kind of order, and I wasn't absorbing information fast enough that we'd be able to get to stuff like that in time. It was almost enough to make me wish that they'd included some of the intelligence-boosting crap they'd given Phibrizzo in my drug regimen, so that I could help him more. 

He smirked. "During Dad's lectures." 

Okay, so that got an answering grin from me. "Would that be safe?" 

"Probably not, but I used to be able to get half an hour or so before he noticed and hit me. I'm kind of out of practice at dozing off standing up, but I used to be pretty good at it." 

"So you used to get lectured a lot." 

"There was a period when he had me up there every day for an hour of ranting about how I shouldn't be such a dumbass. Of course, I was so addled from that synesthesia-inducing shit that I was more interested in what colour each word was than what he was actually saying, and by the time it wore off, he'd pretty much given up." 

"So what colour is 'dumbass'?" 

"He didn't actually use that word. It sounds too uneducated for his taste. 'Idiot' is purple, though. Almost exactly the colour of Xellos' eyes. I'm not sure if that's just the spin my brain put on it or some kind of cosmic joke, though." 

"If the universe has a sense of humour, it's a pretty sick one," I said, and nuzzled the side of his neck. 

"You're telling me. Like, I've got you right here beside me and I can't even enjoy it, because we've both got to get up and go do crap that neither of us really wants to do. But none of it's going to do itself." 

As though the universe had been waiting to hear those words, someone knocked on the door right at that moment. 

"What the fuck . . . ?" Gaav muttered, and levered himself up off the couch to head for the entryway. I was right behind him. 

He opened the gun box, grabbed and loaded his .44, and stuffed it through the back of his belt before going anywhere near the door itself, I noticed. He ducked his head, looked through the peephole . . . and his eyebrows shot up as he unlocked the door and yanked it open. 

"What the fuck are you doing here?" 

"Hiding," Zelgadis replied. "Looking for someplace safe to freak out, really. Can I come in?" 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I'm kind of worried that one of us is going to crack. 

There. I fucking wrote it, even if it's in code. 

I've got this shitty nagging headache two evenings out of three lately, and I can't tell if it's just stress or if something inside me is breaking down into snot. They tell me that shouldn't be possible, but what the fuck do they know? They didn't test every possible combination of the crap that they gave me even on the mice. 

I'm unique. Not just in the way every human is, but a fucking mutant supersoldier. No one knows what medical problems I might end up having, not even Phibby. Usually I just don't let myself think about it, but I have a partner now, and a future, I hope. I don't want to end up leaving Val all alone. He's had enough of that shit already. 

I'm not sure he could deal with losing everything a second time. In fact, I'm pretty sure he couldn't. There's something inside him that's already hanging by a thread. It could snap so very easily . . . and if it does, it's going to set off an explosion that might make the world go down in flames. 

On the other hand, I'm pretty sure he's never killed anyone. Not yet. And this mess is going to involve the two of us killing a lot of people. I don't think he's going to have any trouble pulling the trigger, but I'm not sure what's going to happen afterwards, when the reaction hits and he realizes someone's dead because of him. I'm going to have to be careful to make sure that the first couple of people he has to gun down are provably guilty of something, or else going for his throat or mine. That should be enough to ease him through. Can't let him kill an innocent, and _especially_ can't let him kill by mistake. Not until he's processed the consequences. 

. . . Fuck, you'd think I was a shrink. Okay, so I read a lot about the insides of people's heads while I was playing priest. Doesn't qualify me as a therapist, and I wouldn't want it to. It's a shitty job. And maybe I'm doing that thing where medical students convince themselves that they have every disease that they study. Fuck, I hope so. Except that I'm pretty sure I am some kind of crazy. Growing up the way I did, it would be hard not to be.


	25. Chapter 25

"Can I ask a question?" I asked as Zelgadis flopped down on our couch. "Why the hell come here?" 

"Because you're the only reasonably sane people here who might also be able to protect me." Gaav's cousin winced, cradling his head in his hands. 

"Well, if you've got to rely on us, you've got to be pretty fucking hard up," Gaav said, seating himself on the armchair across from Zelgadis. I perched on the arm of that chair, because I figured sitting in my lover's lap would be a bit much just now. "Protect you from who, exactly?" 

"Rezo." 

There was a long moment of silence. Then Gaav snorted. "Well, that really tells me a lot. Is he trying to beat you to death with his staff or something?" 

"If it was just that, I'd be able to handle it. He _is_ blind, after all. No, I overheard him talking." 

"To himself?" I couldn't help asking it. Zelgadis seemed bound and determined to let us drag this out of him one word at a time, and I wasn't having any. 

"To _Cousin_ Phibrizzo. About . . . experimenting . . . on me." The younger man visibly forced a smile. "Apparently that's why my skin's so messed up—it's something they did." 

Gaav's eyes narrowed, and he frowned, suddenly intent. 

"What's wrong?" I asked him. 

"Either someone's been messing with the files, or Phibby's been going behind Dad's back," my lover said. "Not that I'd put it past the little fucker. But after what happened with us, the next generation—Zelgadis and Xellos, so far—was supposed to be kept clean. Either way, that wasn't what brought you running over here," he added as he refocused on Zelgadis. "You don't need our help just to freak out." 

"They were talking about starting up again," Zelgadis said. "Apparently whatever Rezo was trying in the meanwhile wasn't very successful. I needed somewhere . . . Rezoless . . . to think. And I was hoping for some advice. You were pretty good with that, back in Seyruun." 

"I hope you haven't been running around blabbing about that," Gaav said. "Most of the family thinks I haven't got two brain cells to rub together, and I prefer to keep it that way. Not being considered a candidate for future head of the Syndicate makes my life a lot easier. As for advice . . ." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair I wasn't sitting on. "If you were anyone else, I'd tell you to get as far away from all of us as possible, as fast as possible . . . but you have the same problem I do: you stand out in a way that can't really be fixed. And they'll be alert to the possibility, coming so soon after I resurfaced. Since that's out, you need allies inside the family, so that it's more difficult to abuse you or make you disappear without consequences. And given that it's Phibby you're trying to avoid, you're stuck with us—me, Zelas, Dolphin, and Val." 

Zelgadis blinked slowly. " . . . All right," he said. "It's better than the alternatives. Although I'm starting to see why Rezo tried to keep me away from this." 

"He tried to keep you away because he didn't want anyone to know what he was doing," Gaav said. "I still don't know what the fuck he's trying to accomplish, but it doesn't seem to be good news for anyone but him." 

"Rezo wants to cure his blindness," Zelgadis said in that quiet, even voice of his. "I would have thought you knew." 

Gaav shook his head. "I've seen more of Rezo since I came back that I ever had before in my life. He normally avoids the rest of us. I always thought it was to hide his involvement with the Syndicate from the Church, and maybe to protect you, but it looks like there was more to it." 

"'Looks'," Zelgadis repeated. "He hates that word, you know. Sometimes he'll fly off the handle completely when someone says it in front of him, and start yelling and throwing things." He shook his head. "I didn't spend much time with him until this year either. He sent me to a boarding school in Zefiria after my parents died—that's where I met Lina. I thought staying with him while I went to university would be convenient, but I didn't know how crazy he'd gotten. Or about the Syndicate thing. It was Lina who put me onto that. But you've known all your life, haven't you? You grew up here." 

Gaav nodded. "And I used to think you were lucky for being able to stay clear of this shit. Now I'm not so sure." 

"I'm not lucky at all. Being suddenly dumped on my head in the middle of this stuff, with no warning at all, completely ignorant of what I was getting into . . . I'd say I'm more stupid than lucky." 

Gaav grunted understanding. "Where are you staying? In Rezo's suite with him?" 

"Unfortunately, yes." 

"Mmh. We've only got one bedroom here, but I can have a room opened for you on one of the lower floors. First I need to take you to talk to Zelas, though." 

Zelgadis wrinkled his nose. "If I have to." 

"She likes to think she's in charge," I said. I'd figured that much out since I'd arrived here. 

"But she makes me . . . um . . ." His blush was more purple than pink. Interesting. 

"She has that effect on pretty much every straight man, lesbian, or bisexual who ends up in the same room with her," Gaav rumbled. "Even Rezo isn't immune. It isn't just what she looks like, it's pheromones and shit like that." 

While Zelas had never come out and said so in my presence, I'd pretty much figured out that Dynast and Lei Magnus and Xellos weren't immune either. Which had to be really, _really_ disturbing. 

"You got someone?" I asked, sliding down off the arm of the chair. "Girlfriend, I mean? Or boyfriend?" 

There was that blush again. "Kind of. I'm not sure what's going to happen if she ever finds out my family's connected to the Ruby-Eye Syndicate, though. Amelia is . . . Her father is Philiomel El Di Seyruun." 

Gaav's eyebrows shot straight up. "The philanthropist?" 

"That's him. Anyway, both he and Amelia are a bit . . . odd, sometimes. Overenthusiastic about . . . causes. I like her, though. She's peppy and bright, and, well, _she_ likes _me_." Which wasn't something he ran into too often, I'd bet. 

"Congratulations," I said. "Seriously. Make sure you look after her." 

Zelgadis managed a small, slightly goofy, smile. "Amelia doesn't need much protecting. Still, I'm going to try as hard as I can." He pulled himself up off the couch, as though the thought of his girlfriend had revived him. "Let's get this over with." 

Zelas' apartment was just across the hall from ours. Zelgadis watched a bit nervously as Gaav and I picked up our guns before stepping out into that hall. I'd gotten so used to going armed anywhere outside our own space that it was only the way he stared that reminded me just how weird it was. Packing heat to _cross the hall_ , for Ceiphied's sake. And yet the weight at my hip felt comfortable. 

_It isn't paranoia when someone really_ is _out to get you,_ I told myself, shoving down the little voice that was telling me that not only was I going to be crazy by the time I got out of here, but I already had lost my mind. 

I wondered how Gaav had managed to deal with going unarmed for so many years while he was playing Father Kotomine. It must have felt like walking around naked, especially at first. 

My lover knocked sharply on his sister's door, but the one who opened it wasn't Zelas. 

"Uncle Gaav . . . and Uncle Val . . . and Cousin Zelgadis. My, my. Isn't this a nice surprise?" Xellos had his eyes squinted shut, and a big bruise on his left cheek. He was talking mostly out of the right side of his mouth. 

"Looks like that Paladin girl caught up with you," I said. 

Xellos touched his face. "Ah. Yes, she did. And she has a wicked right cross. I think I'm in love." The right side of his mouth was smiling brightly. 

"A match made in hell," Gaav rumbled, and Xellos giggled. "Look, we're here for your mother, not for you." 

"I thought you might be. She's changing, so if you'd care to wait a few more minutes . . . " 

"That's enough, Xellos. Stop trying to give your poor cousin a nosebleed." Zelas appeared, leaning over her son's shoulder. "Is this important?" she added to Gaav, who nodded. "Good, because I'd hate it if you interrupted my day for nothing. Xellos, go find something to do somewhere else." 

"Fine. I'll go talk to the kitchen staff at the Cornucopia." The slender young man slipped between me and Zelgadis, heading in the direction of the elevator. For a moment, his eye glinted open, sparkling dangerously. Then it slid shut again. 

Zelas sighed. "He means _harass_ the kitchen staff," she said to no one in particular. "We're going to have to arrange a bonus for the chef, for managing to put up with him. He's become such a handful the past couple of years. Spending too much time with his other uncles, I suppose." 

"He doesn't have any friends his own age?" I asked as she stood aside to let us in. 

"He never keeps them for long. He enjoys manipulating people too much. And he's too smart for his own good," she added with a rueful grimace. "I wouldn't be bothered by it, except that I'm not currently sure what side he's on. Other than his own, that is." 

Gaav snorted. "Well, that's a family tradition, anyway." He pulled the door to the apartment shut behind us. "First thing you need to know is that Zelgadis here is throwing in with us, out of self-preservation. And the second thing . . . is that Rezo is even more of a loose cannon than we though." 

Zelas raised a carefully plucked eyebrow. "Oh?" 

"Let's sit down. There's some stuff Val and I never told you, because it was only a guess, but putting it together with what Zelgadis had to say and you get . . . something pretty scary. Even by my standards." 

He started with Zelgadis, but he finished with what we'd figured out about Taforashia. Afterwards, Zelas was very silent for quite a while, and Zelgadis looked pale. 

"This is . . . far beyond anything anyone in the family has ever done before," Zelas said at last. 

Gaav nodded. "I'd hoped Rezo would just be a side issue, but it doesn't look that way now. Fuck. Dragging him into this mess is going to be tough. We might have to go after him separately. Which is even tougher, because it means either getting him after he's on the alert, or tackling him before the Paladins and Dear Old Dad and putting _them_ on the alert. Really, I'm not sure which is worse." 

"Um . . ." Zelgadis said. "I think maybe you'd better start from the beginning." 

"If we want you to understand, perhaps," Zelas said. "However, I'm not sure I trust you that much yet. Unlike Gaavvie here, I don't really know all that much about you. For all I know, you could be Rezo's spy." 

A slight shudder ran through Zelgadis' body. "I wouldn't give that man the time of day, much less any _useful_ information. I don't appreciate being used as his guinea pig. I don't even know what he expected to achieve by testing this stuff on me! _I'm_ not blind." 

Zelas and Gaav exchanged a glance. "Something to do with genetics, probably," Gaav rumbled. "He wanted to find out if it was likely to have any weird side effects. Rezo's position is pretty public. If he suddenly turned blue, people would notice." 

"I don't think he cares," Zelgadis said, and Gaav's eyes narrowed. 

There was that exchange of glances between brother and sister again. 

"Father would have him disposed of the moment he was out of the public eye," Zelas said. 

"You're assuming he's thinking that far ahead. If this is his life's goal, he may not care much what happens afterwards." Gaav was scowling as he spoke, though. 

"Wait a moment. When did we go from 'Rezo doesn't want to be blind' to 'it's his lifelong goal to fix his eyes'?" Zelas asked. 

"Hm? It's pretty fucking obvious from how he behaves, isn't it? Not that he ever _says_ anything, but if you watch him, he doesn't always control his expression all that well. Guess it's because he can't practice in front of mirrors the way the rest of us do. I just didn't know what he was always pissed off _about_ until Zelgadis dropped me a clue." 

"Interesting." Zelas tapped her lower lip with her forefinger. "I generally don't watch him all that closely. I'm surprised you do." 

"Only since I got back. It's possible he may be on to me." 

"You never mentioned that." 

Gaav shrugged. "My fuckup, so I'm the one who gets to do the damage control. In hindsight, settling in Seyruun, right under his nose, was pretty fucking dumb. I'm lucky he didn't find me out years ago." 

"Then again, if you hadn't been in Seyruun, we would never have met," I pointed out. 

"There is that," my lover admitted. "And I wouldn't give you up for the world." His hand came to rest on my thigh, and I put my own on top of it, feeling a grin cross my face. 

Zelgadis shifted uneasily. "Are they always like this?" he asked Zelas. 

"So far," my future sister-in-law replied. "I keep expecting it to wear off, but it hasn't happened yet." 

"Okay, so, getting back to the point," I said, an idea popping into my head, "Zelgadis, is Rezo at the point where he'd try really way-out-there crap to fix his eyes? Faith healing, ancient relics, that kind of stuff?" 

Zelgadis nodded. "Relics, certainly. He has relationships with the curators of a number of the bigger museums, and he's gone off to 'inspect' stuff at one or another of them a couple of times since I came to live with him. It's pretty obvious what he was really doing, though." 

Gaav was smirking. I think he'd already worked out what I meant to do. 

"So do you think Dolphin's up to falsifying a bunch of archaeological articles, or are we going to have to get someone else for that?" I asked. 

"She should be able to do that," Zelas said. "I'd like to know what you're going to do with them, though." 

"Think about it. We've got this centuries-old building parked in a location that meant no one except my clan ever visited it, so no one knows much about it. It's already supposed to contain a superweapon, so why not a magic cure-all to go with it? If we can separate Rezo from everyone else while we're inside that place, we can do pretty much anything we want to him. We just have to convince him to come along for the ride." 

"The weakness in our plan has always been that we're short on reasons for our main targets to show up in person," Gaav added. "Even if we can catch Rezo, I doubt we're going to be able to get both Dad and Dynast, much less all the senior Paladins and Anaharran military officers." 

"I'll settle for just getting that asshole Supreme Elder," I growled. 

Zelgadis looked from one of us to the other. "I'm starting to wonder just what I've gotten myself into," he muttered. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

. . . not sure anymore whether this is a plan or a fucking farce. 

I signed the orders today to send a bunch of Rashatt's lame-ass pet goons out to have a look at the plateau in Anahar and check to see if the roads in are still passable or whether we're going to need all-terrain equipment. We can resort to air drops if we absolutely have to, but that would make it a lot more fucking difficult to slip in the extra explosives and other shit I want to have on hand. 

The plateau. Val's home. 

I don't even know what this is going to do to him, not when just looking at pictures is tearing him up inside. And there isn't a fucking thing I can do about it, either, except be there with him. And hope he doesn't fall apart. 

He's cut, I bleed. I keep wondering how we got from me thinking he had a nice ass to where we are now, even though it's all laid out in front of me in black and white, on the pages before this one. 

I thought I'd learned how to deal with every possible negative emotion. Fuck, by the time I was twelve, I'd trained away fear and pain and sadness. I just didn't feel them anymore. But when they're about Val, they sneak past my defenses. 

Being empty was easier. Not _better_ , necessarily, but easier. Making this work is _work_ , of a kind I'm not used to. 

That doesn't mean I'm going to abandon it, though.


	26. Chapter 26

The moment I stepped off the bus, I knew exactly where I was. I would have known even if I'd been blindfolded, just from the smells and the way the wind brushed up against me. 

Home. Right on the edge of the winter rainy season, with the ungit blooming everywhere, vines pushing up through the cracks in what had been the parking lot of the hardware store. 

The store itself wasn't there anymore, though. Just a burnt-out shell, with more vines growing over it, softening the outline. If I really worked at it, I could almost convince myself that there had never been a building nearby. 

"Fan out," Gaav said into his headset. "Treat this as hostile territory until we've secured it thoroughly. There may be other troops in the area." 

Really, we knew it was more than "may". The Paladins had done an airlift and gotten here yesterday, albeit in smaller numbers than we'd brought with us, and La Gioconda's troops were less than a day behind. 

I listened to the chatter on my headset as I stared into the distance, trying to form a picture in my head of exactly what our troops were doing. It was a welcome distraction. There were tears stinging at the corners of my eyes again, and I wasn't going to let them out. It wasn't time yet, and I didn't want anyone to see. The men (and handful of women) we'd brought with us mostly weren't from Wolf Pack Island—they'd come up from the south, where they'd been fighting in the drug wars the Syndicate seemed to be continually involved in. On the one hand, that meant that they'd never pounded the crap out of me on the mats or seen my early efforts with a gun, so they had no reason not to accept me as Gaav's second-in-command. On the other hand, if I screwed up, their opinions might change fast. 

" _Sector four, clear._ " That was the area where the clinic had been, according to the maps. Easier to clear than the others, since there were no walls left that went above waist height. 

" _Sector three, clear._ " Downtown. There would be more buildings still standing there, more modern concrete construction. 

" _Sector six. We've got hostiles._ " 

Gaav touched his headset. "What kind?" 

" _Looks like the Golden Paladins. Nothing we weren't expecting, but they're camped right across the road up to the building you wanted us to check._ " 

"Withdraw. I don't want any contact . . . yet." 

" _Understood._ " 

"They should be out of line-of-sight of most of the town," I said, and Gaav nodded. I'd pointed out the hill to him when we'd looked at the maps and satellite photos. 

"Still, we'll stay out of that area until we're ready to take them," he said, and touched his headset again. "Team One, how does it look down there?" 

" _Not too bad, actually. They blew up some stuff, but our engineer says the auxilliary pump wasn't too badly damaged and should be fixable with the spares we brought along. So we've got plenty of water. We might even get hot showers tonight._ " 

Having to truck water in had been one of our main worries in setting up here, since the town had relied on pumping water up from an underground river during the dry season, and the rains hadn't started yet. We'd been able to tell the waterworks building hadn't burned, but that hadn't been able to tell us what it was like inside. It looked like destroying it hadn't been high on the enemy agenda after all. 

" _Sector twelve. We've got a situation here, sir._ " 

Gaav's eyes narrowed. "Meaning?" 

" _Civilians. Looks like they were half an hour behind us all the way. We've got them in custody, but this blue guy keeps saying he's your cousin or something, and the little redhead bit one of my men. And she was carrying a string of mini-grenades._ " 

Lina and Zelgadis. Somehow, I managed to keep from groaning. 

"Sorry, Val, but they're all yours," Gaav told me. "I've got to keep on this." 

"Thanks," I said sourly. I mean, I understood, but I was not looking forward to this. 

I had my own assigned jeep—with a driver, even. It was the easiest way of covering up the fact that I could barely drive (in fact, I was probably a better helicopter pilot), and it had given us an excuse to bring Gravos along. 

"Where to, Boss?" he asked as I plunked myself in the passenger seat. 

"Back the way we came," I said, waving in the general direction of the highway, if you could dignify a two-lane road with crumbling pavement and shoulders that sloped straight into the ditch by calling it that. 

"Okay." Gravos started us moving, but I could tell from the way his mouth was moving silently that he had something more to say. 

"Spit it out," I told him. 

"I was just wondering, boss . . . are we really doin' the right thing here?" 

Somehow I kept myself from laughing. "What's the right thing?" I asked, propping my elbow against the door of the jeep and looking out at the crumbling pavement and burnt-out buildings. "Would letting the people who did all this go be the 'right thing'? The people who shot my parents and my sister and my kid brother for no reason at all? Killing them might not be the _best_ way to deal with them, but it's the only way I know." That was probably too complicated for Gravos, so I added, "There is no 'right thing' here. Just wrong things . . . and really wrong things. I think what we're doing is the least wrong thing." 

"Oh . . . okay." Gravos pulled at his lower lip, still thinking hard from the look of it. "I'm not sure I get it, but I trust you, Boss." 

"Are you doing okay?" I leaned a little further back in my seat, pretending to be comfortable. 

"Yeah, I'm doing great. Makin' more money than I ever have in my life, and the other guys aren't so bad once you get to know them. Jillas's got it tougher, though." 

"Yeah?" 

"It's 'cause he's such a weedy little guy, y'know? He was doin' okay back at the island, but the past day or so, the guys've been teasing him a bit. I can't really help him, 'cause they're all stronger than I am. It's kinda scary, really. Most of 'em don't look that big either, but they've all had that medical stuff like you've had, that they didn't have time to do to me, and they can just about pick me up and throw me." 

Well, what could I really say to that? Spotting the force we'd left to block the highway entrance was a welcome distraction. "Pull over behind these guys." 

There was an expensive white truck-type thing parked on the road just beyond the barrier, but it was empty. The normally-dressed people in the middle of a knot of guys in military camouflage carrying guns had to be the ones who'd been aboard. It was difficult to get a good look at them with everyone in the way, though, and Lina, especially, was short. Only the blonde guy, Gourry, and part of Zelgadis' head were clearly visible. 

"What's the situation here?" I asked. 

"The _situation_ is that the only reason I haven't blown a bunch of these guys up is that I knew it would get Zel in trouble with you! Where the hell were you, Val?!" came a familiar voice from the center of the knot. 

"Back off a bit, but keep the guns on them," I told the men. They parted instantly to reveal a quartet: Gourry, Zelgadis, and a pissed-off Lina, yes, but also . . . Pokota? What the hell was _he_ doing here? 

"You know, this isn't a great time for a journalistic field expedition," I said. "In a few hours, you're likely to start seeing bullets fly past and things going bang. It isn't safe here." 

Lina, now visible, rolled her eyes. "That's exactly why we wanted to be here. You tell us about all this stuff, and then you won't let us see how it _ends_. That's torture!" 

"That's because we'd rather have you tortured but _alive_ , you stupid little fool!" I snapped. "People are going to get _killed_. How can I get that through that stubborn little head of yours?!" I bit down firmly on my tongue rather than add, _And I don't want to see any more of the people I care for die!_ I mean, we were barely friends, so what the fuck was wrong with me? 

So long as Gaav was okay, the rest of the world could go straight to hell. I kept trying to tell myself that, but Jillas and Gravos kept creeping in around the edges, and then these . . . nutbars. Well-intentioned, innocent, and utterly crazy. 

"Who do you expect to be shooting at, anyway?" Zelgadis asked. 

"For starters, the Golden Paladins, who happen to be encamped on a hill just outside town," I said, grinding my teeth. "By the time we're done with them, I expect the army will have gotten the rest of the way up here." 

Gourry blinked and said, "Army? Whoa . . ." to no one in particular. 

"Well, you don't seem too worried about _your_ hide," Lina said with a smile. 

"I have training." Some, anyway. "You don't." And besides, what I wanted to accomplish here was more important to me than my own life . . . but I wasn't going to say that within earshot of a bunch of men I was supposed to be commanding. They might react badly if they thought I was willing to sacrifice them as well, Gaav had warned me. And Gravos might react badly, period. 

"Still, we're not going anywhere," the red-head said. "Get used to it." 

I scowled. "And if I have someone pack you onto a jeep and take you to the nearest airport, you'll probably just sneak back. And do it at the worst possible time. Fine. But you don't go _anywhere_ without an escort, not even to the toilet. If you do sneak away on your own, anyone can shoot you . . . and they probably will. You there. Sergeant." I'd gotten a crash course on decoding rank markers while we'd been on the plane. "Have we secured the old motel? Fine, have someone take them there for now—I don't think it's in too bad a shape." 

"What about the car, sir?" 

I shrugged. "Just move it out of the way for now. It's that or blow it up." 

"Right, sir." 

We secured the rest of the town proper without incident. None of the Paladins came to investigate what we were doing, which meant that either they didn't care or they weren't paying attention. With a little finagling, we even got the plumbing and generator at the Clear Sky Motel working again, giving us proper toilets, electric lights, and hot showers . . . although no one would be sleeping in the beds. I pitied the detail of ten men who had been assigned to carry smelly, rotting mattresses, chairs, curtains, and bedding out back where the rest of us wouldn't have to put up with them—the combination of rainy seasons and lack of maintenance had done a number on anything made of cloth. Fortunately, the building itself was made of brick and finished with tile, the old traditional method of building on the plateau that had gone out of style in my grandparents' generation. Even if they'd tried to burn it, it might not have gone up. 

I wandered on foot through the edges of the residential district, following narrow streets between the blackened and overgrown stumps of house walls, unable to orient myself properly, and feeling . . . odd. Hollow. Part of me remained convinced this was a nightmare, no matter how I told myself otherwise. 

That was where Gaav found me. I didn't even realize he was there until he walked up to me and put a hand on my shoulder. 

"Memories?" he asked. 

"Not so much, really," I said with a shrug. "It _smells_ like home, but I don't recognize a damned thing. It's like I've wandered into the Twilight Zone or something." 

My fiance pulled a printout of a satellite photo from his pocket, and pointed at a street corner. "We're . . . here, I think." 

There. About four blocks from the elementary school, two and a bit from the feed store . . . I felt queasy as the world twisted itself around until something _clicked_ inside my head and I knew _exactly_ where I was. The house to my left had been my uncle's . . . I could almost see it standing there, poking up like a phantom from the mess of plants in the yard . . . he'd always been one to let the vines grow over the walls . . . 

I jerked away from Gaav and started to run. I don't know what I was thinking. Maybe not anything at all. But I had to go. I had to see. It was like someone had slid a hook under my breastbone and _pulled_. 

I wasn't out of breath when I got there, but I was panting anyway, for some reason. Maybe because part of me thought I should have been. Just an overgrown lot like any other, with a low brick wall, about three feet high, around the edges. Blackened and crumbling now, but again, I could almost see the unmarked yellow brick. In fact, the vision was so vivid that I almost tripped over the remains of a fallen gatepost before I registered its presence. It was impossible to tell by looking what the make of the burned-out car skeleton in the driveway had been, but I knew. I remembered. 

There was even less left of the house. It had been of modern construction, brick shell over a wooden frame and plasterboard interior, and the fires had taken out that frame and crumbled the roof. I couldn't even make out where the interior walls had been, just guess based on the orientation of the building and the few recognizable objects poking up out of the overgrown rubble. The most distinguishable single thing was the toilet, sticking up like some kind of middle finger to the world. The sound that forced itself from me when I saw it could have been a laugh. Or a sob. I wasn't sure. But if the bathroom had been there, the room I shared with my brother had been beside it, at the corner of the house, and my parents' room across the hall . . . 

I stumbled over something in the mess of debris, and felt big hands steady me. Gaav. I'd been peripherally aware of him following me, jogging along beside me and clambering over debris and through vegetation, saying nothing. 

"This . . . it was . . ." I couldn't get the words out. They caught in my throat and choked me. 

"Your house. I figured that out from the moment you took off like a crazy man." The rumble of his voice was comforting. It loosened things enough that I could nod. 

"I don't . . . there's . . . nothing left." My voice still sounded very lost. Like it belonged to somebody else. 

"Not much would have survived the heat, and half of what did would have been smashed when the roof went. Some ceramics, glass, stone, metals." 

I poked around anyway, prodding at piles of stuff. Sometimes I'd find a half-recognizable object. A broken, blackened dinner plate. A spring from a mattress. A metal box, hidden under the remains of my parents' bed, still locked shut. 

I stared at it, stunned. _The fireproof safe._ I'd forgotten about it, all these years. Hell, my father had joked that it might not even be fireproof. He'd bought it at the hardware store. 

The dial of the combination lock was blackened, the etched numbers almost illegible, and there were flowers of rust scarring the metal. The contents were probably ash. And yet I found myself crouching down to work that dial. Dad had taught all of us the numbers: the month my sister was born, the number assigned to our pitiful highway, and lastly, the number of Elders on the Council. There was a soft _click_ as I entered the last one, and I pulled it open . . . 

Oh. 

Not burned after all. 

With shaking hands, I pulled out papers. Birth certificates. My parents' marriage certificate. Bank books and passports and a heavy manila envelope. When I undid the string holding that shut, pictures fell out, along with some old photographic negatives. My face, my siblings', my parents'. Family portraits and wedding pictures and I didn't know what else, because my vision was going all blurry. 

There was no repressing the tears this time. I sobbed out loud, hugging my knees, and Gaav's arms wrapped around me from behind. 

"You were a cute kid," he said, and I cried even harder, hating myself for it, but unable to stop. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone else see you like this." 

How did he always know what I needed to hear? 

I turned and buried my face in his shoulder. It was a little better that way, with a warm, living body against mine, holding me together when each fresh sob rattled my bones. 

It still hurt so much . . . but I might survive it. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

The part of me that's done grief counseling and shit like that immediately thought, _about time._ Even if it fucks with his masculine pride, Val needs to grieve properly if he's ever going to move on. He's been stuck on anger for too long. 

I doubt he'll be at peace until we deal with the Supreme Elder, though. That wrinkled up old asshole is dangerous. He needs to be taken out—not just to give Val closure, but on general principles. 

Val really was a cute kid. The pictures all show him with this wide grin, even the ones where he's missing teeth. And his hair used to go all the way down to the middle of his back, at least. I wonder if I can get him to grow it out again. It looked good on him, and I can just imagine running my hands through it. 

I guess I'll have to show him a couple of my old pictures sometime. Not that he'll recognize me with hair that short. I started growing it out the second I graduated from that fucking military school just because I _could_ , and I stuck with it even when taking care of it was a pain in the ass. I don't know how primitive people managed, 'cause I need a whole bottle of shampoo and one of conditioner, plus a lot of hot water, to get the stuff properly clean. And then there's burrs, and . . . fuck, really, if I never see another jungle, I am going to be one happy guy. 

And here I am, rambling about hair and _Val's_ feelings so that I don't have to write about what's really eating me. Maybe it's just because I'm having a hard time finding the words. Those pictures. _Family._ Intellectually, I know you're supposed to care about your relatives . . . and I guess I do care about Zelas and Dolly, and maybe even about Zelgadis. The rest of them, I'd just as soon shoot and use the corpses for fertilizer. But Val . . . He looked up to his father. He knew who his mother was, not just some shit about "ova specimen 34-A". I wonder what that's like. What he had. What I didn't have. What he lost. 

Does it really make so much difference?


	27. Chapter 27

"Sir?" 

"Keep firing," I told Gravos crisply, although the chances of him hitting anything were nil, and turned my attention to the voice from my headset. "What is it?" 

"Looks like a flag of truce, sir." 

"You're sure it's not just an accident? One thing they've got a hell of a lot of over there is white cloth." 

"They've got it on the end of a pole and they're waving it around, so I'm pretty sure it's on purpose." 

I scanned the makeshift sandbag fortification the Paladins were hiding behind. Yeah, there it was, sticking up a good four feet over the edge. 

I switched channels on my headset. "Gaav, they're waving a white flag over the edge of the sandbags. Do you want me to talk to them, or just keep on hitting them?" 

"Go ahead and talk. It'll give us time to finish getting in position," my lover said. He'd taken the best of the troops and a selection of weapons and gone around back. I was just running the distraction. 

"Alright." Back to the general channel. "Hold your fire, everyone. And I need a volunteer to walk out there with a piece of cloth on a stick, to make sure they really are on the same page as us." 

I got three volunteers right away, and picked the one who looked like she could run the fastest. While everyone else held their breath, the young woman carried a (regulation, from our supplies) white flag on a pole out into the space between us and the Paladins, and jammed the pole into a crack in the ground with a firm thump. 

There was a long pause, and then a group on the Paladin side came out through a gap in the barricades. _Milgazia,_ I thought, identifying one of them. _Figures._

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out from behind our own makeshift barrier and went over to join the woman with the flag. Milgazia's group stopped about four feet away and planted their own flag. 

"Paladin Ul Rechis," I greeted. 

"Mister Agares," Milgazia said gravely. "Is all this really necessary?" He made a gesture taking in both armed camps. 

"You tell me," I replied. "Because I can't think of a single _good_ reason why you'd bring a bunch of troops up here. I'm entitled—sole heir, and all that. You're not." 

Milgazia dipped his head, acknowledging the point. "The Supreme Elder ordered me here. I was told to keep you away from 'the weapon' at all costs until he could send a team of scientists up to investigate it." 

He wasn't coming himself? Crap, that meant we were going to have to go to Phase 2b. "Steal it, you mean," was all I said, though. 

The Paladin smiled ruefully. "I won't dispute that." 

"Seems to me you have two choices," I said. "You can do that obey-until-death crap and get a whole bunch of people killed. Or you can surrender and do what you know is the right thing." 

Milgazia gave me a thoughtful look. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, so I added, "You might want to think about why my fiance isn't beside me right now, and what he might be doing instead. There's no way you can win this one, Milgazia." 

"I agree." 

I was drawing breath for another argument, but his words managed to register before I could actually speak. "Good. Then we need to do this carefully, I think. So that no one gets shot." Buried in all the information Gaav had thrown at me over the past couple of months had been an outline of how to accept a surrender. 

Milgazia had to have had some training in that too—probably more than I had—because he said, "My people will come out slowly, one squad at a time, with their guns pointed at the ground, then lay them down and move off." 

"And we won't shoot unless you do first," I said. "Fair enough." 

He offered me his hand, and I took it. He had a firm, dry grip. Then we both started passing instructions back to our various troops. 

Five squads of ten troopers each, plus Milgazia and a small headquarters group. It was more than Gaav had expected the Paladins to send. We'd thought we had more than double the number of people they did, but it turned out it was more like one and a half times. They had to have used a lot of helicopters. 

Gaav emerged from the brush at the side of the road as the fourth squad was disarming itself. For all his size and his bright red hair, my fiance was scarily good at sneaking. He almost got himself shot by a trigger-happy member of our own team, but fortunately the guy figured out who he was as soon as he straightened up. 

My lover immediately came over to join me and Milgazia. "Bit surprised you're smart enough to give up, but I'm not going to complain," he said after greeting the Paladin. 

"Most of the people under my command are idealistic children," Milgazia said. "They actually believe what was written in our official orders: that we were sent here to recover the 'super-weapon' said to have been under the guardianship of the Ancient Clan, for study and, if necessary, destruction. They don't know about the additional order I was given, in private, by the Supreme Elder." 

"'Kill Val Agares,'" I suggested. 

"'And if you can, make it look like an accident,'" Milgazia added, looking away from us. "Overall, the Paladins do a lot of good . . . when we don't get tangled up in politics. When we do, a lot of those idealistic children always end up dead for no good reason. I refuse to accept that. That's why I've never sought promotion, and why they keep me out of the media as much as possible. I was sent up here as a warning—to me, not to you." 

"What were you before you joined up?" Gaav asked. "You're not the kind of fucking ignorant idealist I normally run into, and your records are under a seal thick enough I didn't think it was a good idea to probe them just to satisfy my curiosity." 

Milgazia smiled thinly. "An officer in the Sosthan Special Forces. I didn't do well at politics or 'necessary' sacrifices there, either. After a certain series of events, I was offered the choice of a voluntary resignation or a court martial. I came very close to taking the court martial—I would have, if I had thought I had any chance of getting the media in there." 

"Huh," was my lover's only reply. "And now?" 

The Paladin shrugged. "A similar situation and the same result: I will _not_ see those children killed to cover up the Supreme Elder's crimes. Which means I will likely be expelled from the Paladins of Gold." 

I drew in a breath to tell him that he didn't need to worry, but Milgazia held up his hand. 

"I had rather not know what you have in store for the Supreme Elder," he said. "Ignorance is the one mitigating circumstance I do allow myself." 

A shrill cry came from somewhere among the Paladins' tents. "Let me _go_ , you—you nameless filth!" 

Gaav's eyebrows shot up, and I jerked. "Oh, hell, why did you have to bring _her_?!" 

"The Supreme Elder insisted," Milgazia said. "She is somewhat too naive to understand that he wanted her to spy on me, but in a sense that makes her the best spy of all." 

"Yeah, but this might have turned into a shooting war," I pointed out. 

"I don't think he values her nearly as much as she thinks he does. Or perhaps he had a different lesson for her than he had for me." 

"Hmm," Gaav said as half a squad of our people dragged Filia Ul Copt out into the open space between the two makeshift fortifications. "Can you get her to calm down, at least? This is difficult enough without her making a fucking scene." 

"I can try." Milgazia strode off toward the struggling little knot of people. 

"Do you think Xellos is going to show up when he finds out his girlfriend's here?" I asked. 

"Fuck, I hope not! I don't want any extra family members who aren't on our list poking their noses in. Dealing with the ones that are is going to be difficult enough. I don't need a fucking masochistic teenager getting underfoot." 

I knew the list he meant. It had four names on it: Lei Magnus, Rezo Greywords, Dynast Grauscherra Magnus, Phibrizzo Magnus. The four people who still stood between Zelas and control of the Ruby-Eye Syndicate. 

The Supreme Elder, the Paladins, the Anaharran government . . . they were on a different list. My revenge list, as opposed to the get-the-Syndicate-off-our-asses list. We had to kill, or at least permanently incapacitate, the people on the Syndicate list if we ever wanted anything like normal lives. I'd settle for just hurting the ones on the revenge list, though. Except for the Supreme Elder. Him, I wanted dead. 

Once we'd collected everything they had that might go _bang_ or _boom_ , we let the Paladins pack up the rest of their kit and haul it back to town. They would set up their tents in the parking lot of the cafe that had been across the street from the motel—close enough that we could keep an eye on them, but far enough away to make sabotage difficult. 

While the bulk of the Paladins were being marched off down the road, a small group of us piled into three jeeps to head up to the Great Temple. Gaav and I, of course. Gravos, since he was still driving us around. A squad of troops, just in case. Milgazia, to order those of his men who were still up there guarding the scientists examining the place to stand down before they got shot. And Filia, because it was the easiest way to keep her from causing trouble. The two Paladins rode in the same jeep with us, which put Filia beside me in the rear seat. She took one look at me, jerked her head up, made a little "hmph!" noise, and turned to look in the opposite direction. I wasn't sure whether that was because she just despised me or because Gaav, seated on my other side, had his hand on my thigh, though. 

The gravel road had never been that good, and now, after suffering seven years' worth of rainy seasons without maintenance, it had the texture of a washboard, and the edges had crumbled away, so that the width varied from two full lanes to just-barely-one. I gritted my teeth and leaned into Gaav, since that was better than being jostled up against Filia. My lover put his arm around me, and ignored it when the top of my head hit his chin and snapped his mouth shut. 

"How much of—ow!" Filia stopped talking suddenly when we hit a bump right in the middle of her question. _Bit her tongue? Maybe now she'll stay quiet for a while._

"It's about ten miles." I spoke through my clenched teeth, since that meant my tongue wouldn't get in the way. I didn't bother adding that that was going to take a good twenty minutes at the maximum speed the half-rotted roadway would support. At least there weren't any streams or anything to wash out the roadbed completely, so this was probably the worst we were going to run into. 

Milgazia's researchers hadn't been very careful on their way up, or else they hadn't had the practice in driving on bad surfaces that Gravos had gotten at construction sites, because we passed a jeep similar to ours, but with a Paladin logo on the door, lying on its side in the ditch. That cheered me up a bit. If they were incompetent, tricking them would be that much easier. We still had to get the Supreme Elder out here, after all. 

Half a mile or so further on, a dark shadow fell across the jeep, and Gaav muttered something unpleasant as he looked up. I looked too, even though I knew what I would see. 

The Great Temple of the Ancient Clan was an impressive sight. I don't know how they originally put it together—either we'd once been more populous than I remembered from my childhood, or more patient—but it was a huge, three-storey building made from blocks of stone that each weighed multiple tons. The stone had been taken from a quarry only a couple of miles away, but even so, it must have taken hours upon hours just to get one rock to the building site and lift it into position. 

From the outside, the building was roughly circular in shape. Inside, it was a warren of rooms and vaulted passageways, with signs written in pictoglyphs rather than the modern alphabet. I wondered if Milgazia's people had even found the stairs yet. 

Two more Paladin jeeps and a thirty-foot white trailer were waiting for us when we pulled into the parking lot. 

"You brought that much research gear?" Gaav asked Milgazia as Gravos brought our vehicle to a stop. 

The Paladin commander shrugged. "Our scientists insisted. It _is_ a very odd building—perhaps the only remnant of the civilization that created it, although very little has been published about it." 

I snorted. "What the hell do you mean, the only remnant? People used to turn up the ruins of the old town all the time when they were digging foundations and sewers and crap like that. We just never thought it was all that important. I mean, _we_ knew where it all came from. In some cases, we even had records of who built it. We weren't called 'the _Ancient_ Clan' for nothing, you know." 

Milgazia's eyes widened slightly. "Then . . . I am not an archaeologist, but it strikes me that some of this should have come to light when I was researching the area." 

"There was some law from hundreds of years ago about allowing outsiders into the Great Temple, because of some crap involving sabotage of supplies—it was the clan's stronghold of last resort in the old days, not just a place for worshipping Ceiphied. I suppose eventually someone from the clan would have gotten some training and written it up, but no one ever bothered before . . . or ever will, now." Unless I did it. Weird idea, but it was a narrow possibility for a future that went beyond my revenge. 

Gaav had asked me, back when, what kind of memorial I wanted for my family—for my people. Maybe not letting everything disappear was the best I would be able to do. I'd have to think about exactly how to go about that. 

There was a hint of moisture in the air as I stepped down out of the jeep, and I could see clouds beginning to gather on the western horizon. The rains would be starting soon. Maybe even tonight. I hoped they would make the army bog down on the road, force them to leave any heavy equipment they'd brought behind. The satellite pics had told us they had some big covered transport trucks with them, but we didn't know what was on them. If they had artillery or something, we were going to have to scamper back into the hills and call in an air strike . . . and hope they didn't up the ante again, because the Ruby-Eye Syndicate didn't have the resources of even a third-rate banana republic's armed forces, just paramilitary troops that made their living taking over and controlling little jungle villages. You didn't need artillery for that, or fighter jets. We were lucky they had those two old bombers. 

Inside the doorway—there were no doors anymore, the double metal panels with their narrow glass insets that I remembered from my childhood lay on the ground outside, rusted and deformed—there were a pair of Paladins, very young men who were pretending they'd been watching the entrance the whole time instead of having put away whatever they'd been doing when they'd heard us pull up. 

_Very young._ Really, we had to be about the same age. It was just the hell I'd been through that made me feel so old. Wasn't it? 

"Colonel Milgazia, sir." That was the one on the left. He had light green hair and gold eyes—might even have been a distant relative from one of the Clans to the north. "Nothing to report, sir. It's been very quiet." Well, we _were_ far enough away from the site of our skirmish that they probably wouldn't have heard the gunfire unless they'd been listening for it. 

"Nothing here, perhaps." 

Green-hair blinked. "Sir?" 

"We've surrendered. Please lay your weapons on the floor and step back from them." 

"Ummm . . ." 

"That's an order!" I'd never heard Milgazia being firm before. For a second, his voice went sharp, and his expression changed completely. 

"Yes, sir!" The two Paladins put their guns down on the stone floor, as they'd been told to do, then each took three steps back. 

"Gravos," Gaav said. "Collect those, and take them back out to the car. Just so they don't get ideas." 

"Right, boss . . . I mean, sir." He gathered them up and headed back out to the parking lot. 

"So, now that we've dealt with that," my lover continued, "you mind telling me where the rest of your people are?" 

The green-haired boy swallowed and looked at Milgazia, who nodded. The other boy seemed to be willing himself to sink through the floor. "We're still trying to figure out how the insides of this place fit together, sir. Nothing's at right angles, and none of the signs are in any language anyone recognizes. They've been following the symbols one-by-one—I think they're working on this one right now." He tapped one of the glyphs chiseled into the wall, the one with a line sticking up from the middle of a circle. I snickered. 

Everybody turned to stare at me. "That's for the toilets," I explained. "Well, technically, it means 'latrine', but they didn't bother inventing a new glyph just for modern plumbing. There's exactly one modern plumbing stack in this entire rockpile, by the way, and it's at the other end. I hope everyone's been having fun finding their way there and back." 

"Then you can read these?" Milgazia asked. 

"We got the basics in elementary school, and my grandfather taught me a few more. There are a lot more than I ever saw, though, and I don't remember all the ones I was taught." Everyone had remembered the 'toilet' glyph from school, of course—we'd been about that age when they'd briefly covered the pictographic script. "There used to be a couple of reference books in the second-floor library here, if they haven't been trashed or disintegrated into piles of mold. Anyway, other than the toilets, I can tell you that this—" I pointed to a very stylized scroll. "—is for the library, this one is the Elders' offices—" That was a linear scribble that I only recognized because I'd had to follow it so often. "—and this one is for the basement storage vaults." A half-oval, like the arched entrance to one of the hallways. "A lot of them don't really mean anything anymore. The one that looks like a spear and shield was for the armoury, hundreds of years ago when we still had one." 

"Interesting." That was Milgazia again. 

Gaav knit his eyebrows, and turned to the commander of the squad that had followed us in. "Wait here and disarm our friends when they come back. Val, I want you to give me the two-bit tour." 

"Sure." 

"I want to come too," Filia said. 

"Sit on her," Gaav told Milgazia. "Let's go," he added to me. 

I nodded and led the way through the left-hand exit. We both had flashlights as part of our kit, fortunately, because the generator obviously wasn't running. 

"The first thing you've got to remember is that this place was _designed_ to be confusing," I said once I thought we were out of earshot of the entrance. "It's a giant invader trap. Well, you saw the sketches I drew for you." 

"The ones that look like broken spiderwebs? Yeah, I remember." 

"Those are the ones. There are no through passageways to anywhere—they blocked them off on purpose, and there are a lot of slots and holes they set up for poking or throwing things through the walls and ceilings." 

"So any invaders would have to find some weird twisty path through the building while they were getting hit with rocks and spears and shit. Pretty nice setup, if you can get it. Remind me again why your people turned into pacifists." 

"No clue. They always glossed over that in our classes. We were told when and who, but not why." At the time, I'd barely even noticed—it had just been more Boring Local History Stuff. By the time I'd gotten curious, there hadn't been anyone left to ask. "There used to be some earthworks, too. A ditch and a bank, I think, but they bulldozed the bank into the ditch around the time my parents were born, 'cause it got in the way of building the parking lot." That took us to an unmarked wooden door, still closed and intact, that I opened to reveal a narrow flight of stairs. "Those sign-glyphs aren't what they seem either, by the way. Oh, they'll take you where they say they will if you follow them long enough, but it's never the shortest route." 

"So the entire place is a pain in the ass for anyone but the owners . . . and sometimes for them, too, I'd bet. Where are we headed?" 

"The library. There might be some real plans of the place there—better than my scribbles, anyway. Assuming the Paladins didn't trash it." The entrance doors had been lying on the ground outside through at least one rainy season, so they hadn't been mangled and removed by Milgazia's people. That meant that someone had probably entered the building seven years ago. 

"Mmm. What do you think of our stray Paladin Colonel?" 

"Milgazia? He's too honest to be part of the crap they've been doing. Why?" 

"Because it might be an act. I didn't manage to place him until he said he was Sosthan. Then I twigged. They used to call him 'Pleasant Milgazia', because he specialized in politely negotiating surrenders, after he'd gotten his own troops into a position where they had the advantage. No one who's that good at manoeuvre can possibly be completely honest." 

"Oh." I'd thought I was a better judge of people than that. Apparently not. 

"Don't let it worry you, Val. He's pretty slick—if I'd never heard of 'Pleasant Milgazia', I might have gone right on thinking he was just what he seemed. And I've had a lot of practice spotting twisty people." 

Upstairs, the door to the library was standing open. The dust in the hallway outside was smooth, but that didn't mean much—this wasn't the only entrance. 

Inside, the room . . . well, it was hard to say if it had been disturbed or not. Half the books were off the shelves, but that had been the case sometimes when my grandfather had brought me here, too. Some were on the floor, but they were in neat piles. The remains of the Elders' last literature search, or a tidy-minded invader? Who could tell? 

"I hope this isn't all written in this weird glyph crap," Gaav said as he looked around, hands planted on hips. 

I shook my head. "Just some of the oldest records. Even if they'd wanted to keep using them, I don't think they ever made glyphic typewriters. Anyway, if there are any maps or plans of the building here, they're probably over—Damn!" The drawers in the big cabinet were hanging open, and the contents were missing. "Okay, one other place we can try." 

The door to the climate-controlled area where the oldest documents were stored had been hidden behind a curtain. Miraculously, the curtain was still up (if a little tattered), and the door was shut. With a combination lock, but as with the family safe, I'd known the combination. Quickly, I spun the dial: 3-15-73. The month and year of the clan's conversion to pacifism. 

The door clicked and opened, giving us access to a small, dark, dank-smelling room. The climate control had been inoperative for years now, and some of the more delicate documents were probably done for, but a good piece of parchment can keep its integrity for a pretty long time. A bound volume containing the last paper catalogue that they'd done stood on a shelf just inside the door, and I squeezed my flashlight between my cheek and my shoulder to free both my hands to rifle through it. Drawer number eight in the corner cabinet. Okay. Two well-worn pieces of parchment, irregular in shape. The original plans of the building. And with them, two big sheets of age-browned paper covered with ink lines that were the first _good_ survey drawings, from three hundred years ago. 

"We'll have to—" I began, when my headset suddenly squawked static and broken syllables into my ear. 

"Fuck," Gaav muttered, and tapped his earpiece. And, "Where's a window? Ideally, one facing back toward the town." 

"Out through the main door of the library and across the hall," I said. "Will that actually help?" 

"A bit. Depending on what the rock is made of. If it isn't good enough, we might have to go outside." 

The librarian's office was even more dusty than the rest of the building, to the point where I sneezed as we fought our way over to the dingy window. 

Gaav switched his mic on. "Say again? We missed part of your last." 

There was still static, but this time the voice at the other end was clear enough to make out. "Mr. Dynast just arrived, sir. And he's pissed." 

"When isn't he? Never mind, we're on our way back." 

Dynast. Well, we'd been expecting him. We had strategies in place to handle him. 

"High Priest Rezo is with him." 

Gaav was the one who said it aloud. "Well, shit." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

That Great Temple gave me the cold shivers. I've never visited another place with such a sense of history, of . . . fuck, I don't even know what. It was like I was carrying ten tons on my shoulders, with thousands of strangers staring at me. A sense of _presence_ , I guess, is the word I'm looking for. I can see believing in the Flare Dragon and all the other gods and devils, if you grew up in a place like that. Weird. Val will probably laugh, if I ever let him read this, because that place didn't seem to bother him at all. 

He's braver about some things than I am. I think that if I ever got any proof that Ceiphied really existed, I'd freak the fuck out. Val would . . . not take it in stride, but he'd handle it. 

I can accept the idea of being judged for the things I've done by other humans . . . if I can be said to be human. They're fallible; that means they've done stupid shit too and I can judge them right back. Having an all-seeing, all-knowing deity judge me would feel too much like being judged by my fucking father, though, or the scientists at the lab when I was a kid. They knew everything I did and treated me like a bug under a microscope. They were the first people I ever hated, and I suppose I never did quite let that go. 

Fuck. I scrounge a fucking half-hour where I don't have to deal with Dynast or Rezo or being in charge, and instead of necking with Val like I _should_ be doing, I'm writing in this thing instead. Val's been awfully quiet since we got back from the Great Temple, though. Not spooked, just . . . subdued. 

I wonder what he's thinking about.


	28. Chapter 28

"This was the best you could do?" Dynast sneered as he looked around the lobby of the derelict hotel. 

"We were expecting to have to camp out," Gaav said. "You know, tents, port-a-potties, no running water except what falls from the sky . . ." 

" . . . and around here, you always get either too little of that, or way too much," I put in. Thunder rumbled outside, as though on cue. Yeah, the rains were definitely going to start tonight. "So we're lucky to have working plumbing and electric lights and nice dry floors to sleep on. But you can look around and see if you can find something better, if you'd like. There're still a few other buildings standing." 

Dynast smiled a nasty, fake smile. "You know, I don't think I like you at all. Brother-in-law." 

I smiled back. "The feeling's mutual. Brother-in-law. Good thing we don't have to like each other to work together, isn't it?" Was that a little too smart for the persona I was trying to use around him? 

"As you say, these are far better accommodations than we could normally have expected to find," Rezo put in mildly. "I myself have certainly slept under much worse conditions, when journeying to oppressed areas of the world." 

It irritated the hell out of me, how he played the benevolent man of the cloth with such conviction. Then again, I'd liked Father Kotomine and his straightforward, no-nonsense style. Okay, so he'd been lying just as hard as Rezo. At least he'd been doing it for the right reasons. 

_Mom, Dad? Would you have liked him too?_

It was a silly question. I knew that. But I couldn't help asking it, speaking silently to the photo that I'd quietly slipped inside my wallet after lugging the fireproof safe back to the hotel. 

Pretending for a moment that they would have been able to come to terms with the "our son is gay" part . . . No, they would still have hated Gaav. At first, anyway. His personal style would have been too forceful for their taste, and then there was the age difference . . . He would have grown on them, though, once they'd had a little time to understand why I loved him. Wouldn't they? If he let them see the smart, strong, fiercely caring man I'd found underneath his rough exterior? 

I shook my head slightly. _Face it, Val, you fell in love with his muscles and his nasty grin. The personality part came later. If they'd ever met him, Mom would have started frantically match-making for you with every girl in the clan, even the ones she normally hated, and Dad would have thrown a hairy fit and probably tried to pitch both of you out on the sidewalk, even if your boyfriend would have been able to tie him into knots._

In the end, I would have had to choose between them. Maybe it was better that I didn't have to. I could keep the images of all of them in my heart, and they'd coexist peacefully. Well, except when my brother did something stupid and Mom felt she needed to chew him out. 

Funny, how just that handful of pictures had been enough to set off such a cascade of thoughts, of memories. I'd cried myself out against Gaav's shoulder after visiting the house, and since then it was like I couldn't stop thinking of them. Of the lost. Not of that night and the violent ending, but of our lives together. 

Part of me was pissed off by that—why now? It was way too soon! I'd wanted to have my revenge over with before immersing myself in this. Before letting myself think. But my subconscious didn't seem to care what I wanted. It dragged up images at the least provocation. It didn't help that my sister had spent a summer working here at the motel, and I'd come to visit her from time to time . . . so out of the corner of my eye, I'd see her vacuuming the floor or doing something behind the counter here in the lobby. And there would be ghosts haunting the other surviving buildings too. Especially the temple. How many hours had I spent up there with my grandfather that one summer? Hundreds, probably. I wasn't sure I'd dare enter his office. 

The part of me that wasn't pissed off wanted to wallow in the warmth of the memories. But I couldn't afford that right now. That's why I'd wanted them to hold off. When this was over, then maybe I'd be able to let myself think about it. About them. Right now, I had to have my attention on what was going on around me. Rezo, Dynast, the Paladins, the army. The Plan. 

" . . . any idea where this supposed 'super-weapon' is?" Dynast was saying. 

Gaav shook his head. "We spent the afternoon mopping up stray Paladins. We'll start looking tomorrow." 

"The Paladins are an annoyance," Dynast grumbled. "I don't know why you left them alive." 

"'Cause we would have lost a lot of men taking them down." 

"The men are disposable." 

Gaav's expression remained calm, but I saw a flash of pure rage in his eyes. "Not here. Takes too long to get replacements." 

His brother scowled and made an irritable noise, but didn't bother saying anything. Outside, thunder rumbled again, and I heard the sound of the first raindrops spitting hard against the roof and windows. 

"It sounds as though we may be in for a storm," Rezo said. 

I shrugged. "Just normal weather for this time of year. I'd advise not going outside without an umbrella. Unless you _like_ getting wet." The Paladins were going to be having fun, across the street in their tents, although the parking lot we'd had them pitch them on was well-drained. "I'm going to go walk the perimeter and make sure no one's doing anything stupid, like trying to stick it out under a six-inch ledge." I wanted to get away from Dynast and Rezo before I did something stupid myself, and that was as good an excuse as any. 

"You're taking this whole second-in-command thing pretty seriously. You'd almost think you were something more than my brother's bedwarmer." 

And that was exactly why I didn't want to spend any more time around Dynast than absolutely necessary. I hated having to grit my teeth and put up with his shit. He wasn't even very subtle about it. I don't know if he was so used to seeing guns that it never occurred to him that I could shoot him, or if he was dumb enough to just believe that I was afraid of what might happen to me if I did. 

Well, okay, I _was_ afraid of what might happen if I did, but not in the way he might think. The problem was that all of the big fish were still outside the net, and if I shot Dynast it might jeopardize our chances of getting Lei Magnus to come here. If we didn't get him, the whole Plan would end up being in vain. 

I'd been able to insist that everyone, including me, be issued an umbrella before coming here. They were bland, generic olive green, but they did their job of keeping the rain off. 

I left the hotel by the rear exit, so that I could get clear of the vegetation before it started being so wet you got soaked if you just brushed up against it, and walked past the old picnic tables and empty garden beds along the white gravel pathway that curled around the side of the building. Raindrops thudded against my umbrella. 

I didn't see anyone at all until I reached the front of the motel . . . where I was nearly run down by a Paladin jeep. The medical torture they'd put me through on Wolf Pack probably saved my life there, as I was able to dodge the vehicle without losing my balance and face-planting in a puddle. The jeep sped off down the road on a wavering course, bouncing hard as it hit the potholes, with at least three Paladins running after it. 

"What the _hell_ is going on here?!" I snarled. 

"Filia," replied a voice from among the Paladin tents. A moment later, a very tired-looking Milgazia pushed between his men. He didn't have an umbrella. Actually, none of the Paladins did, and they were starting to look kind of soggy. 

"Filia?" I repeated. "She was driving that thing?" All I'd seen in the instant I'd almost run down was a smear of pale robes and blonde hair . . . I bit back, _She doesn't have a license, does she? I mean, she's a worse driver than I am!_ and substituted, "What got into her?" 

By this time, Milgazia was beside me, just outside the range of my umbrella. As though he thought he didn't have the right to stay dry. "She reacts to things she doesn't like by either pretending they aren't happening, or pitching a fit. This time, she picked the fit." 

"What got her started, though?" I asked. 

The Paladin commander sighed. "She asked me about what had happened here, and I told her the truth, or as much of it as I know." 

"And that made her blow up? She'd already heard it," I pointed out. 

Milgazia grimaced. "Not that her father was involved. I should have known better than to let that slip. As soon as I mentioned his name, she flew into a rage, knocked my tent down, and stormed off to borrow one of the jeeps. I just hope she doesn't drive it over a cliff." 

I shook my head. "No cliffs around here—the worst she should be able to do without following some goat track up into the hills is roll the thing in a ditch." 

"Do I have permission to send my men out to search for her?" 

"Did you bother to bring umbrellas?" 

Now it was Milgazia who shook his head. "We weren't expecting the rainy season to start for at least another two weeks, and we should have been long gone by then." 

"Heh. The old-timers always used to say that something was wrong if the ground wasn't like soup by the time we hit Ceiphiedmas. Anyway, let me check with our perimeter first. They may have seen her." 

I hadn't been wearing my headset, so I had to fish it out of my pocket and put it on, juggling my umbrella all the while. I nearly fell over in surprise at the voice that answered when I put in a call to the central radio unit—the headsets didn't have much range on their own, so some larger equipment had been set up as a relay. 

" _Zelgadis?_ " 

"I was tired of just sitting around," the young man explained. "And I have a ham radio license. I needed a little help figuring out the gear, but not much. What can I help you with?" 

"I need to know if anyone's spotted a blonde Paladin girl driving a jeep." 

"Just a sec." He might be running the big transmitter-receiver, but he wasn't the one taking the routine perimeter reports, so he was going to have to ask whoever was. About thirty seconds later, he was back. "She went past point 8, wherever that is, and took off along some gravel road." 

I frowned. Point 8 was . . . "Oh, crap. Thanks." I switched off the headset and turned back to Milgazia. "She was spotted up at the other end of town. Did you tell her where the bodies were buried? Because I think she might be trying to go there. There isn't much else in that direction." 

The Paladin grimaced. "The area is marked on the maps we've been using." 

"Shit." I couldn't think of anything good she could do up there. Flicking the headset back on, I selected a different channel. "Gravos? Get one of the jeeps. We've got a minor problem I need to take care of." And again. "Gaav, that brat Filia threw a temper tantrum and stormed off, possibly headed for the mass grave. I'm taking Milgazia and Gravos up to retrieve her before she tries to dig it up." 

"Don't do anything I wouldn't." The transmitter stripped my lover's voice of its deeper harmonics, making him sound a bit tinny. "And if you can't get back here in half an hour, leave Milgazia to deal with his own strays. The fucking army's going to be here soon, and I'll need you to help deal with them." 

Several possible responses passed through my head, but in the end all I said was, "I'll be careful. And quick." 

"Mmh. You'd better." 

I smiled crookedly and shook my head. He would never say, "Don't go." No matter how much he might want to. 

He knew I wouldn't listen. 

Gravos pulled up just then, and I climbed into the jeep, grimacing at the wetness on the seat. My . . . friend . . . gave me a kind of half-shrug, as though to say, "What can you do?" He was wearing a cheap raincoat over his clothes—better than my umbrella, for what he was doing. The jeeps did have roofs of a sort, canvas toppers you could draw across, but the sides just ended where there would have been windows on a normal car, and the rain was falling at enough of an angle that plenty of it got in anyway. I resigned myself to getting wet. 

"Where to, Boss?" 

"Head up that way and take the third left," I said, pointing along the road. "There's another turn, a right—I'll tell you when we're a block or so out. And . . . Gravos? Step on it." 

"Got it, Boss!" Gravos gunned the engine and then took off at a good clip, dodging potholes. Fortunately, this first section was paved, so there was enough reasonably smooth surface for him to drive on without bouncing us up and down too much. I didn't even bother to grit my teeth . . . and ended up biting the tip of my tongue after we passed the perimeter unit and turned onto the gravel road, but I barely even noticed. I was too busy bracing myself for what I knew we were going to find at the end of the drive. 

Except it wasn't the same. That was the first thing that struck me. Seven years ago, the soil had been raw, freshly bulldozed in preparation for building the new community center, and then dug up. Now there was grass softening the hummocky mess, and the brush was working its way in from the edges of town to reclaim the site. 

Filia, though . . . She'd parked the jeep awkwardly at the end of the road, and now she was kneeling in the middle of the whole mess, ignoring the rain as she stabbed at the ground with a trowel. I don't know what she was expecting to find. I'd explained how deeply the bodies were buried to Lina during our interview, and it was going to take at least a proper shovel and a couple of hours' work to get down to that level. 

Milgazia called her name and began stumbling through the hummocky grass. I followed more slowly, putting my umbrella up even though I was already wet. Behind me, I heard a car door slam, and Gravos' reassuring heavy footsteps following me. 

"—but there's something," Filia was saying as I got within hearing range. She pointed to the ground. 

"That doesn't mean you need to dig it up," Milgazia said firmly. 

"But—" 

I could see it too, now: a scrap of faded pink nylon with a faint floral pattern on it, sticking up out of the ground. 

"It's a windbreaker," I said. "The store got a bunch of them in not long before it happened. Kid's sizes. One of the little girls must have grabbed hers from a hook near the door, or something, as her family left the house." Or maybe a parent had grabbed it for her, hoping that she would still be alive to need it when the insanity was over. A forlorn hope. Damn, why were my eyes stinging? There hadn't even been anyone close to me who'd bought one of those stupid things, just some kids from the neighborhood. "Don't dig it up," I added. "It might not be consecrated ground, but that doesn't mean they deserve to be dug up just because some spoiled little brat can't believe that her daddy did something evil." 

"Filia could bless it," Milgazia said. "Technically, she's an ordained priestess." 

"An ordained _Reform_ priestess," I pointed out. "No, when all this is over, I think I'll try to arrange for a proper funeral. Old Rite, the way they would have wanted it. And a gravestone. Maybe a monument. So that no one _ever_ forgets what happened." 

The Paladin nodded. "If you need help raising funds . . ." 

I felt my mouth twist into a rictus of a smile. "What's the matter? Feeling guilty?" 

"Is that so odd? Or so wrong? One of these people was my friend, and I failed him. I accepted what I was told, and never thought to check it. My position wasn't as precarious as yours. I could have sought justice for them, and I am going to have to live for the rest of my life with the knowledge that I didn't." 

"I still can't believe that my father . . ." Filia was still picking at the soil with her trowel, but she didn't seem to be making a serious attempt to dig anymore. 

"Good people make bad decisions sometimes," Milgazia said. "I'm sure he was told he was doing the right thing." 

"He didn't have to listen," I growled, ignoring the irritated look the Paladin gave me. "'Just following orders' and 'I thought I was doing the right thing' won't keep you out of jail, and sure as hell shouldn't absolve anyone of responsibility for being involved in something like this. He should face the music along with everyone else." 

Filia glared at me. "If it was your father—" 

" _I don't have a father!_ " I snapped. "I don't have a father or a mother or a brother or a sister, or grandparents or uncles or aunts or cousins or _any_ of that! Although if I let you dig down into all of this, I suppose you would find them eventually! _That's_ what your fucking _father_ did to me, Filia Ul Copt. And all your whining isn't going to change that. Stop trying to hide your head in the sand." I grabbed her arm and yanked her to her feet—she wasn't that heavy, and my enhanced strength meant that she had no choice but to come. "Now. I'm not leaving you here to dig up graves. You're coming back with us, whether you like it or not." 

She bowed her head. Long blonde hair, which had long since pulled loose from whatever arrangement it had started in this morning, fell soddenly across her face. 

"I feel sorry for you," she said, "but—" 

" _I don't want your pity!_ " Thunder roared not too far away, nature offering emphasis and punctuation. "If you can't do anything _useful_ , just sit quietly in one of those tents until your ass rots off, and stay out of my way." 

I just about threw her into the jeep. Milgazia got in beside her, and I settled myself in the front passenger seat and stared moodily into the rain while we headed back to the hotel. 

Several times, I noticed Gravos giving me worried looks, but even if we'd been alone, he wasn't the person I would have chosen to discuss this with. How could he possibly understand? He'd never lost everything. He even had a mother and a sister back in Seyruun, if I remembered correctly, although they'd never approved of what he did for a living. He'd never visited hell, much less stayed there long enough to map it out, as Gaav might have put it. 

There was a pain somewhere deep inside me that was as sharp and bright now as it had been the night my family died. Maybe it had never gone away, even if I'd been numb to it, those years on the streets. I'd been numb to just about everything, for a while. Like a zombie. It had taken years for me to wake up again, and I thought some parts were still in a coma and might stay there for the rest of my life. 

I was still staring at the rain as we pulled up in front of the hotel and got out of the jeep. I barely even noticed when Milgazia gave Filia a push in the direction of the tents. She went, but I think she was looking pretty sullen. 

"Mr. Agares," Milgazia said suddenly. 

"What?" I didn't want to talk to him right now, really, but I doubted he'd give up just because I said so. 

"You know that revenge doesn't solve anything, in the end." 

"And just how are my plans any of your business? It isn't like I'm going to be going after you. I know you weren't involved." Or if he did, he was a very good actor . . . Belatedly, I remembered what Gaav had told me about "Pleasant Milgazia". 

"I just don't want to see you destroy yourself. For your uncle's sake, if nothing else." 

I could feel a hysterical laugh building in my chest, like a mass of lava. "For seven years, I've been living surrounded by my dead. I've pretty much been dead myself. I need to get them out of my head, and I don't see any other way to do it. If you want to keep me from joining them, then make sure Gaav stays in one piece, because he's the only reason I'm not trying to find a way to burn down the entire world and myself along with it. Got it?" 

Milgazia nodded, but he was frowning. I told myself I didn't care what he thought about me, and almost managed to convince myself. 

It wasn't until I got inside and took my umbrella down again that I realized just how wet and cold I'd gotten. Shivering, I shook myself like a dog, splattering water everywhere. 

"Fuck, Val, you're soaked." Gaav had been leaning against the front desk, waiting for me. "Go get a shower and get changed—we've got hot water now, since that pint-sized pyromaniac friend of yours got the generator up." 

"W-what ab-b-bout—" My teeth were chattering, I realized with irritation. Just when had that started? 

"The army? We've got about another fifteen minutes before they hit the perimeter, so make it snappy." 

His words and tone might have been sharp, but his expression was worried, so I said, "Sorry, I didn't take the sides on the jeeps into consideration when I ordered up those umbrellas. We should have gone with raincoats instead." 

"I had them include some ponchos with the supplies. I'll have someone find one for you." 

"Thanks." 

He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze as I walked by. I think he might have wanted to hug me, but if he'd done that, he would have ended up soaked too. 

The room we were going to share was the first one out from the lobby, just on the other side of the fire doors. Someone had moved the empty bed frames out already, and a common bedroll was spread on the floor near the window. My duffel sat on top of Gaav's well-worn footlocker, over in a corner, with the battered fireproof safe on the floor beside it. I kicked off my boots, took out some dry clothes and my towel, and went into the bathroom. 

Considering the amount of cold water I'd already absorbed, it was amazing how good the hot water felt. I had to force myself back out of the shower again and into fresh clothes, hanging the wet ones over the shower curtain rod. Then I stomped back into my army boots and headed for the lobby. 

I got there just in time to feel the ground vibrate under my feet. Earthquake? But there were no fault lines near here. That suggested either an explosion, or a very large falling object. 

There is was again. "What the hell?" I asked out loud. 

Gaav scowled and looked up from a map he'd laid out on the front desk. "Remember those covered trucks we figured might have heavy guns on them?" 

"Yeah?" 

"They were actually carrying some of that little shit Pokota's fucking robots." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

This ridiculous fucking protective streak I'm developing toward him is going to get me in trouble someday. The moment he walked in the door, soaking wet and shivering, I wanted to grab him and hug him and bury my face in his hair and tell him it was going to be all right. I knew it wasn't a good idea the moment the thought crossed my mind—what we do behind closed doors was one thing, but in public, during a mission, he's my second-in-command and there's a limit to how gently I can treat him. Besides, he'd fucking explode if I tried to smother him. That temper of his is one of the reasons I love him, after all. 

. . . It's getting easier to write that, just a little. _I love him._ I can even do it without thinking I've gone crazy, just about. 

I think we're just about there. Our survival, his revenge, the whole lot. Although dealing with the army's going to be . . . interesting. And I'm still not a hundred percent sure we can get the fucking Supreme Elder up here. I may have to ask Milgazia to help us with that, and I can throw the bastard further than I trust him. Of course, it might be easier to figure out what side he was on if he was sure himself.


	29. Chapter 29

_I don't believe this,_ I thought, trying not to stare up at the twenty-foot armoured monstrosity looming over us. The mech Pokota had used to crash the ball had been impressive enough, but apparently it had also been only a prototype. What in hell was he powering the things with? Pocket nuclear reactors? There was no way you were going to make me believe he'd gotten that many batteries in there, and it was way too quiet for anything else. But this wasn't the time to ask, even if the pink-haired menace was only about ten feet away. 

I was standing beside Gaav. I might have had some confidence in getting out of this in one piece if he'd been the one negotiating on our side's behalf, but we were just here to round out the group. Dynast was supposed to do the talking, and Rezo . . . well, he would pretend to be a mediator, and we'd see if anyone was naive enough to take him seriously. Milgazia had come with us too, towing a disheveled-looking Filia in his wake. So it was going to be a three-sided discussion . . . nominally, anyway. The army wasn't likely to know that the Paladins had already surrendered to us, and Milgazia and Filia had been told to keep quiet. 

Of course, there was one more loose cannon mixed in. The action was here, which meant that Lina Inverse was also here. Not to mention Gourry Gabriev. And Zelgadis Greywords. I wasn't sure whether Pokota had just tagged along with them, or if it had been vice-versa. 

"You think it's going to be okay, Boss?" And of course, no gathering would have been complete without Jillas and Gravos. And Rashatt, who was standing in the background looking like a stormcloud had just bitten him on the ass. Which one of them might do yet, since the only space we'd been able to find that was large enough to accommodate everyone and their entourage was the open-ended tent the Paladins had been using as a messhall, which was why we could see the mech in the first place. And the rain was still coming down in sheets. 

The Anaharran military was currently represented by a group of grim-faced people who all managed to look the same to me despite having a wide selection of different hair and skin colours, builds, and genital arrangements. I knew I should have tried to be more observant, but they didn't matter, anyway. The major negotiator for their side had yet to arrive. 

"We'll figure something out," I muttered to Jillas, who nodded. 

"This sure would be easier if I was high. Or at least drunk." 

I raised my eyebrows. "You didn't bring anything?" I knew he'd collected at least one biweekly paycheck at this point, and he didn't have to pay for rent or food anymore, so . . . 

"Your giant boyfriend made me promise to stay off the strong stuff while we were out here, and you can only fit so much booze in a duffel bag, so I'm saving that for when I really need it," Jillas said morosely. 

So now I knew what it took to make Jillas stay clean: having Gaav threaten him with dire consequences if he didn't, and being out in the wilderness with no chance of finding a dealer. A lot of work, in other words. 

There was a disturbance at the far end of the tent as the knot of military types parted to let someone through. _Finally,_ I thought. 

La Gioconda wore her orange hair piled on top of her head, presumably to keep it out of the way. Although her makeup was artfully applied, it did nothing to disguise the crow's feet and other signs of middle age that marked her face. I was sure that was on purpose, though. She'd reached her current position by being a hardass, not by looking pretty. The pantsuit she wore was stylish and well-fitted enough to do Zelas proud, but Gaav's sister wouldn't have accessorized it with a pair of assault rifles slung across her back. La Gioconda had never been known for her subtlety. 

She wasn't alone. That surprised me a bit, but only for a couple of seconds. I mean, if you'd asked me who was likely to come with her, the Supreme Elder, in all his wrinkly glory, would have been fairly high on the list. And the third figure had familiar golden eyes gleaming out from under the edge of his hood: Duclis. Pokota made a soft noise as the hooded man entered his line of sight. 

"Gentlemen," La Gioconda said, her tone of voice twisting it almost into an insult as she nodded at us. 

"Madam President." Rezo was the one who responded. "A pleasure to meet you again." 

"You're keeping odd company these days, High Priest Rezo," she replied. 

Rezo smiled pleasantly and shrugged. "The circumstances are somewhat complex, but when I discovered my grandson had taken up with bad company, I couldn't simply leave him to try to find his way out alone . . ." 

"Oh? I thought your grandson was ill." La Gioconda's smile said she had never believed a minute of it. 

"A partial fiction convenient for both him and myself," Rezo said, with another shrug. "Zelgadis suffers from a chronic condition that affects his appearance, and prefers to stay out of the public eye." 

Zelgadis stirred slightly. Fortunately, Gourry was standing between him and La Gioconda, so she couldn't see his angry expression. 

"Ah. Would you care to introduce us to the rest of your . . . party?" 

Again that sweet, fake smile from Rezo. "I can't say that they are truly _my_ party, as such, since part of the reason I came here was that I hoped to mediate between them . . . but if it will speed matters up, I would be glad to. First, Dynast Grauscherra Magnus." 

"Madam President," Dynast said, offering her a sly smile as he bowed. 

La Gioconda sized him up. "So you're the heir to the Ruby-Eye Syndicate. I can't say that you look like much." 

"Gaav Magnus," Rezo continued, ignoring the byplay. "And his fiance, Valteria Agares, last survivor of the Ancient Clan." 

Gaav nodded brusquely. I followed suit, gritting my teeth as La Gioconda's eyes lingered on me. Which she didn't say it, I'd have bet she was thinking some variation on, _So that's the one that got away._

"Paladin Colonel Milgazia Ul Rechis, and his aide, Filia Ul Copt, a Lesser Priestess of Ceiphied Arisen." Was that what she was, officially? "Although I expect you are already aware of their identities. Likewise, I believe you have already met Posel Taforashia. And the young lady is Lina Inverse, a journalist acquaintance of my grandson's." 

_You son of a bitch, you did that on purpose, didn't you?_ By describing Lina as "a journalist" rather than "a student" or . . . just about anything else, really . . . he'd painted a bullseye on her back. If La Gioconda wanted to avoid having word of this meeting get out, she'd feel the need to make sure Lina didn't get away. 

"The others are not of any significance to this discussion, but if you wish—" 

"I prefer not to clutter my mind with trivialities," La Gioconda said. "And I assume you already know who my companions are. The Syndicate may be composed of cowards, but it has an excellent research arm." 

Gaav didn't so much as tense up at the blatant provocation. Jillas, however, drew in a breath. I bounced my closed fist off the top of his head, not even really hard enough to be called a punch. He gave me a resentful look anyway . . . but he also shut up, which was the important part. 

"Then, if you would all care to be seated, perhaps we can conduct this discussion in a civilized manner," Rezo was saying. 

"I prefer to stand," La Gioconda replied. "After all, this won't take long." 

"You're very sure of yourself," Dynast said, with a hint of a sneer in his voice. 

La Gioconda smiled. "I believe it's clear who has the upper hand here." 

"Is it?" 

The smile of the President faded. Not that it had ever been more than a shark-like baring of teeth in the first place. "You are trespassing on the property of the government of Anahar, gentlemen. You have twenty-four hours to remove yourselves, or we will remove you." 

"Property of the government?" Dynast said, his sneer now a great deal more than a hint. "That's funny, since the owner—the surviving next-of-kin of nearly everyone in the entire town—is standing right over there. I'm pretty sure you can't even expropriate the land without compensating him first, not and remain in the Seyruunese League." 

In a more civilized country, that might even have worked. But this was Anahar. My muscles tightened as I readied myself for action. I had some idea what was coming next, although I wasn't sure exactly what form it would take. 

There was a glint of metal as La Gioconda's hand rose, and I dove to the left with the sound of the tiny single-shot pistol and her pleasant-sounding, "Well, then, if he's dead, there's no problem, is there?" echoing in my ears. There was a flash of pain from my shoulder, but I didn't stop to check for bullet tracks. Instead I yanked a flash-bang out of my pocket and pulled the pin with my teeth. Even with my eyes closed, it left bright spots strewn across my vision as Gaav grabbed me and I grabbed Jillas (who hadn't been in on the contingency plan and so hadn't known to close his eyes) and we all pushed our way out of the tent and into the rain. 

Gaav threw another, larger flash-bang, one that had metallic chaff and some other crap mixed into it, at the mech, and we ran past three Paladin tents before ducking sideways into one. Gaav and I both put our headsets on while Jillas was still blinking and staggering. 

"Status," Gaav snapped, transmitting over the general channel. 

"Chaotic." That was Raltaak, the older man who had come in with Rezo and Dynast, as their temporary bodyguard. "Rashatt's in position, but they brought up a lot more men than we thought. Blowing a couple of the trucks may not be enough." 

"Fuck," my fiance said succinctly. "Plan four, then." 

"Right." Raltaak clicked off. 

"So we abandon the town," I said quietly. 

"Got a better idea?" Gaav asked, with a shrug. 

"Wait, what? Boss, are we just leaving Gravos here?" Jillas seemed to have finally started to track again. 

"We'll do one pass around the area and gather up whoever we can," Gaav rumbled. "Truth is, though, they're safer anywhere but with us. It's Val who's the main target, then me and Dynast. And that girl Lina, since Dyn decided to mark her out." 

There was a stutter of gunfire outside, not too close, as Gaav stuck his head out of the tent—the theory was that since he was above most people's eye level, he was less likely to get hit. No shots were fired closer by, and when he gestured me forward, I pulled out my pistol, holding it under my rain poncho to keep it from getting drenched, and slipped out into the rain, flattening myself against the tent. I heard Gaav warn Jillas to stay close before he slipped out and positioned himself on the other side of the flap. Gaav gestured again, and I nodded. Shifting my grip on my gun, I began to work my way along the row of tents. We'd do a broad arc around the site of the conference on the side away from the mech and gather together anyone we could find who was on our side before heading out of town. 

Thankfully, the first person we found was Gravos, or I think Jillas would have gone crazy. The big lunk was standing over a couple of soldiers he'd brained with an assault rifle. 

"I couldn't figure out how to make it shoot," he said in embarrassment, holding up the battered weapon. 

"That's because you have the safety on," I said, rolling my eyes. And he hadn't been protecting it from the rain, although it might still fire—I had no idea whether the damned things were watertight or not, since my training with them was limited to general familiarization. "Here." I pushed the muzzle down so that it pointed at the ground, and worked the safety for him. "Don't point it at anything you aren't okay with shooting, remember. And protect Jillas." That was mostly an afterthought, but it would give him something to do. 

" _Get down!_ " 

I didn't consciously recognize the voice, but I threw myself flat on the ground anyway. There was a massive _bang-whomp!_ from the direction of the mech, and a moment later, gobs of mud and bits of asphalt pattered to the ground around us. 

"The fuck?" Gaav muttered. 

I looked up and saw Milgazia, with an ugly cut over his eyebrow, holding an empty rocket launcher to his shoulder. Behind him hid a bedraggled-looking Filia. 

"Hopefully that should at least have unbalanced it," the Paladin Colonel said as he lowered the weapon. "Are you all right?" 

"Wet and pissed off, mostly," Gaav replied. "What are you doing out here, and shooting at your boss's friends, too?" 

A pained expression crossed Milgazia's face for a moment. Then he smiled ruefully. "I suppose you could say that I've done it again. They tried to shoot that girl—Lina Inverse. And the Supreme Elder was egging them on, more or less. I couldn't stomach it." 

"Huh," was all my lover replied. "I don't suppose you've seen my asshole brother? Or Rezo?" 

"I think the army may have taken them," Milgazia replied. "I had a brief glimpse of Mr. Magnus on the floor, with three or four soldiers on top of him." 

"Serves them right," Gaav said. 

"Who, the soldiers?" I said, and he grinned that nasty grin of his without giving a proper answer. 

"Well, if I'd cared what happened to Dyn, I would have guarded him myself, and not just left him," my fiance said. "What about Lina Inverse and her lot?" 

"They crawled under the edge of the tent, but where they went after that is anyone's guess." 

We had warned Zelgadis about the possibility of flash grenades and given him some general outlines of the fallback plans, since he seemed able to keep a secret. Hopefully we'd be able to meet up with them. 

"I hope you have a plan that goes beyond 'make as much of a mess as we can to reduce the chances of us being followed', because I don't," Milgazia added, and looked at us expectantly. 

"There's only one location in this town that's really defensible," Gaav said. "Purpose-constructed for it, in fact." 

Milgazia blinked. "The temple," he said, in an odd tone. "Of course." 

My lover nodded. "In theory, they could still dump on a nuke or something and bury us under several tons of rock, but my bet is that they won't try. They still want whatever's hidden in that building. Which means we have to find it first, or prove it doesn't exist. For now, the plan is to gather up whoever we can find, and head out there. We've got cars stashed in a bunch of different places, just in case." 

"Boss, I just had an awful thought," Gravos said. "Do we have keys to all those cars?" 

I rolled my eyes. "There's nothing to keep us from hotwiring them, dumbass. No electronics. They don't even have complete doors. Just pry off a panel and short a couple of wires, and we're on the move." Ironically, I hadn't learned that on the streets. It had been part of Gaav's insane cram course. Which hadn't taught me nearly enough, in the end. I'd been in such a hurry then, but now I wished we'd had a couple more months. There was so much that I just didn't know . . . 

"And we need to get our asses in gear," Gaav rumbled. "We'll do another quarter-arc, then get the hell out." 

Milgazia nodded. He set the rocket launcher down on the wet, crumbling asphalt and pulled a smallish pistol, chromed metal polished to a mirror sheen and inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl, out from somewhere among his robes. It looked like it was more suited to Filia than it was to him, but he didn't seem at all embarrassed. Nor did he bother to explain. He used his other hand to grip Filia's arm, and when Gaav gestured to his left and began to move, they both followed. 

Turning my back to the two Paladins made the space between my shoulder blades itch. I forced myself to do it anyway. Gaav seemed willing to trust them that far, and hopefully Jillas would keep an eye on them, just in case. 

We caught glimpses of various things as we moved among the tents. Small groups of people in army uniforms searching the area tent by tent. Little knots of people in Paladin vestments, surrendering—that made Milgazia wince. I wouldn't have been all that worried about them in his place, since I doubted most of them knew enough to be worth killing . . . and they couldn't afford to start shooting bystanders before they were sure they'd gotten anyone who might contradict whatever story they came up with to explain away those deaths. 

We were those Paladins' best life insurance. 

Gaav stopped abruptly after crossing a gap and flattening himself against the next tent to peer around the corner. He frowned, then deliberately made eye contact with me, then Milgazia, and gestured us over. 

I sidled over and put my back to the tent fabric, peering cautiously around the corner myself. I bit back an incredulous curse as I saw what had drawn Gaav's attention: a short figure confronting a very tall one. The short figure was Pokota. The tall one was swathed in a hooded coat. It could have been anyone, but there was something very odd about its stance. 

"Just whose side are you on?" Pokota asked, his voice half-drowned by the rain. 

"You still are that naive, aren't you? You think there are good guys and bad guys, and you can cooperate with one to fight the other. And yet you recruit members of one of the world's largest criminal dynasties to your side." 

"Zelgadis can't help who his family is!" 

"I'm not talking about Zelgadis so much. Gaav Magnus, on the other hand . . . Do you have any idea how dangerous he is? How many people he's killed?" 

"And going over to Gioconda's side is somehow better?" 

"I have my reasons. Get out of here, Pokota. Leave all of this alone. Let me handle it my way." 

"I can't do that, Duclis." Pokota put one hand on his hip and looked up at the larger man. "So, are you going to shoot me?" 

Instead, Duclis made a quick grab and latched on to Pokota's hair. "Oh, no, you're too valuable. But for now, I'm going to have to lock you up." 

"Boss, are you just gonna let him do that?" Gravos asked, a little too loudly. Or maybe Duclis' hearing was just that acute, because his head jerked up. 

I grimaced. "I guess not," I said, and raised my pistol to cover the tall Taforashian. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I don't know what the fuck is going on here anymore. 

I was expecting the part where everything went to shit, and Dyn being captured wasn't surprising either . . . but Pleasant Milgazia standing up for a near-total stranger? I can't help thinking there's something wrong there. And why is that girl following him around like a zombie? It's just too weird. And I don't like it. 

Duclis is another loose cannon. I've never been too clear on how he and those fucking robots fit into this mess, if they do at all. I keep getting a visual of the current situation as a pissed-off cat wound up in a ball of yarn, and I'm not quite sure who's the cat. Me, probably. 

Well, at least we got the Supreme Elder up here. Now we just need Phibby and Dear Old Dad to complete the set, and I'll do without Phibby if I have to. He's only dangerous in combination, not on his own, so knocking out the others should defang him. I hope.


	30. Chapter 30

"Do you even have anywhere _to_ lock him up?" I asked Duclis, who shrugged. 

"We've got one of the vans outfitted for prisoners." 

I took a step closer, still keeping my gun trained on him. "If this is the bit where you threaten to kill him unless I put the gun down . . . let's just skip it, okay? Because I know that whatever you might _say_ , you don't want him hurt." 

"You seem awfully sure of that." Duclis' green eyes glared at me from under his hood. I still hadn't really seen his face. 

I shrugged. "Balance of probabilities. You've got a gun." Under his coat, but I could see a holster outline of the kind Gaav had taught me to spot. "Shooting his foot or something would keep him from running away without damaging any of the _important_ parts, but you left the thing in its holster. And you're Taforashian. Shooting your prince might represent some kind of point of no return for you. Anyway, you don't have that option anymore. Let Pokota go, then open your coat so that Gravos can come and take your gun." Hopefully he wouldn't manage to fumble the safety off and shoot himself in the foot with it . . . but my other option was to ask Jillas, who was physically weak and looked it. Gravos should be less desirable as a hostage. 

Duclis made a growling noise, but he dropped Pokota, who scrambled toward us. Then, moving very slowly, the big Taforashian opened the front of his coat, shrugged it off his shoulders, and let it drop. 

He did look like a tiger, or a . . . what was the word? A furry? Silver fur with black stripes, a tail, and a decidedly feline head, although he still stood on two legs. He wore a pair of knee-length shorts, ankle boots that had to have been made especially for him, and the shoulder holster. That was it. I guess it must have been uncomfortable to cram his fur in under anything even slightly tight. 

"Hands in the air," I said, keeping my weapon pointed. "Gravos, take his gun." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Filia wiping Pokota's face with a corner of her robes. I wondered if she was going to manage to do anything more there than swirl the dirt around. 

"Right, Boss." 

I gritted my teeth as Gravos lumbered over to the tiger-man, but Duclis didn't make any false moves as the other man slid the gun gingerly from its housing and brought it to me. It wasn't a model I was familiar with, so I passed it to Gaav, along with a question: "So now what?" 

"Now we hope that we can all fit in one car," my lover said, cracking the tiger-man's gun open and dumping the bullets in a puddle. "Six was always going to be a bit tight. Seven is really pushing it. Eight won't work," he added, with a glance at Duclis. 

The expression on the tiger-man's face was impossible for me to read. "I'll leave Prince Posel to you, then. Since it seems I have no choice." 

Gaav inclined his head, then tossed Duclis' gun on the ground. "Let's get going." 

Duclis watched us go. When I glanced over my shoulder, he still hadn't moved, facing toward us with beads of rain clinging to his fur. He was going to be thoroughly soaked soon, but as far as I could tell, he didn't move even after we were sufficiently far away that we would have been just shadows in the rain. 

Turns out, you _can_ make seven people in a fabric-topped jeep work, if you ignore the seatbelts and arrange a couple of people in other people's laps. Gaav drove, I sat in the passenger seat, and in the back, Gravos had Jillas in his lap, while Filia held Pokota (who alternated between squirming and complaining, and blushing whenever he brushed against her breasts—well, better him than me). Milgazia sat directly behind me, with his gun still in his hands and his attention clearly focused outside the jeep. 

I really didn't know what to think of the senior Paladin at this point. He hadn't seemed at all reluctant to touch off that rocket launcher, and yet he'd let himself believe that the Paladins as an organization were good people. I wasn't sure I could have been as casual about firing at the mech . . . but I also didn't have any delusions about being in this for anything but self-interest and revenge. It was confusing, and I suck at philosophy, anyway. 

When Gaav finally slammed on the brakes outside the Great Temple, we were so close to the building that the wheels sent a wave of muddy water across the facade as the corner of the bumper scraped the stone. 

"Your driving _sucks_ ," Pokota said from the back seat. 

"You're alive, so don't fucking complain," Gaav snapped, drawing his gun and crouching low as he emerged from the car. No one had come out to investigate the commotion yet, but that didn't mean we shouldn't take precautions. 

I pulled my gun out too, wondering when it had gone from feeling alien in my hands to being . . . reassuring. There didn't seem to be anyone around except us, but you could have marched a brass band up and down the inner corridors of the Great Temple without anyone outside the building being able to hear so much as an occasional _blat_. 

Gaav checked inside the open doorway, then slipped inside and flattened himself against the wall. I followed him. 

"No water or mud except what we tracked in ourselves," I pointed out in a low voice. "I'd bet no one else has been through here since yesterday. It's _hard_ to get rid of all the mud on the floors in here—the janitor used to complain about it all the time." 

My lover grunted, and a bit of the tension went out of his muscles. Slowly, he reholstered his gun, an acknowledgment that we were _probably_ safe. "Get the others in here." 

Rather than go back out into the rain, I leaned out through the doorway and beckoned. 

"You're sure it's safe, Boss?" Jillas called. 

I shrugged. "Mostly sure. Unless they came in the back way, but they'd have to _find_ the back way first." The evacuation tunnel was marked on the old maps, and I'd pointed it out to Gaav last night, but although I'd been inside the end closest to the building as a kid, I'd never seen where it came out. Our best guess put it more than a mile away, in a ravine in the middle of nowhere. 

Jillas, Gravos, Filia, and Pokota all stumbled inside more or less together, with Milgazia bringing up the rear. Someone's teeth were chattering. After a moment, I managed to localize the sound to Pokota. His clothes were wet through. The rest of us weren't in the greatest of shape either, but Syndicate paramilitary gear was designed to retain at least some warmth when wet, and I'd bet the Paladins' stuff was the same. Only Pokota was wearing ordinary jeans and a T-shirt. 

"Let's get to the old kitchens," I said. "We can build a fire there and dry out—there was an emergency stash of wood, and I doubt anyone would have bothered taking it. It's this symbol: the pot-thing, we used to call it when we were kids. There's a well, too." 

"Inside the building?" Filia asked. 

I shrugged. "Wasn't my idea, but don't knock it. If we're stuck here, it's all the water we're going to get, unless the Paladins restarted the pump for the other well. It's pretty deep, though, so it takes a while to pull up a bucketful." 

"S-so long as we c-can drink it, I d-d-don't c-care," Pokota said through chattering teeth. He'd already found the right hallway, and was hugging himself while he waited for the rest of us. 

"We'll need to guard the door," Gaav said. "Milgazia, you and Jillas stay here for now. If anyone shows up, try to make them keep their heads down while the little guy runs like fuck to find the rest of us." 

Again, I could guess what was going through my lover's head: he didn't trust Milgazia, but he didn't want to be the one to stay, and I was the one who knew the interior of the building. Gravos was too dumb to notice if the Paladin Colonel turned out to be on the other side after all, Filia wasn't on our side to begin with, and Pokota was an icicle. That left Jillas, who was visibly unhappy with the idea. Fortunately, he nodded anyway. 

"Right, Boss. Just . . . not for too long, okay? We'd like to dry out too." 

"We'll work out some kind of rotation," I said. "In the meanwhile . . . stay safe, okay? If you get your head shot off, you'll probably turn into a poltergeist or something, and we don't need that right now." The words almost burned my tongue, but I knew I'd be lying to myself if I claimed I didn't care. Just a little. 

Ten minutes and three shortcuts later, we'd made it . . . and Pokota was past speaking. I grabbed a dust sheet that had been protecting some slightly more modern kitchen equipment, and handed it to him, ignoring the grey cloud of dust I'd just stirred up. "Get out of those wet clothes," I said, and he nodded, teeth still chattering. 

The kitchen was a good-sized room, although not as large as the dining hall beyond. The most noticeable feature was the big fireplace/stove in the center of the room, a stone box topped with a removable metal grill and coated in centuries of accumulated soot. The ceiling above it contained an equally soot-stained black hole of a chimney that split into a tangle of holes no larger than my fist, right up at the limits of the light thrown by our flashlights. The modern stove and fridge were off to the side, but with no power there was no way they would work. Fortunately, there was a good-sized stock of wood. Gaav had already grabbed an armload and was arranging it inside the stove, with smaller sticks in a pyramid over some wood shavings he created with a knife, and then a pyramid of larger logs over that. Survival stuff I hadn't gotten to in my training, I guess. A moment later, he had a fire going. 

"If the soot catches fire, it's going to be a pain in the ass to put out," he observed, sitting back on his heels. 

"Fire extinguishers beside the other stove," I said, and pointed. "There's a sand bucket, too." 

"Probably closer to cement than sand, if it's been standing here for years in the fucking on-again, off-again humidity this area has. Turn off the flashlights—we need to save the batteries." He suited actions to words, and once Gravos and I did the same, the only thing lighting the room was the fire. Gaav promptly sat down on the floor with his back against the stove. After a moment, his clothes started to steam visibly. "Two hours, then I'm going to go relieve Milgazia," he added to me. 

I sat down beside him and leaned against his shoulder. The warmth of the stove felt pretty damned good. I guess I hadn't known how cold I was until I started to warm up again. 

Pokota emerged from the shadows with the dust-cover wrapped around him like a toga. Without saying anything, he started laying out his wet clothes flat on the floor near the stove, since there was nothing to hang them on except a few hooks on the walls, well out of his reach. 

"So that's it?" Filia asked. "You're just going to sit here for two hours, or whatever?" 

Gaav gave her a Look. "And just what the fuck is it you expect us to do?" he drawled. "Charge out into the rain and make a five-man attack on the army _and_ the Paladins, since the Supreme Elder's probably put himself back in charge of them? I know everyone thinks I'm a meathead, but a fucking pet rock could see that wouldn't work." 

"But—" Her eyes were wide. She looked _frightened_ , I realized, so I took pity on her a bit. 

"Other people knew about the plan. We're hoping they might still show up. That'll give us more to work with." 

" . . . Oh." 

"Why the hell are you tagging along, anyway?" I asked. Gaav's hand pushed against my hip, and I leaned obligingly forward so that he could slide his arm around me, but I didn't take my eyes off Filia. "If you'd stayed behind, the Supreme Elder would have welcomed you back into the fold with open arms." And pumped her for information about us and Milgazia, no doubt. 

"Because I need to understand. Because I need to prove my father didn't do . . . any of this." 

"And what if you're wrong, and he did?" 

She looked away. "I have to believe he didn't, or I'm going to lose my mind. This is all so sick, so . . . wrong." 

I sighed. Well, she was halfway there, anyway. The rest of her illusions would be wiped away soon enough. I snuggled closer against my lover and closed my eyes. Maybe I even dozed, I don't know. The next thing I remember is the sound of footsteps and voices. 

"I tell you, Zel, we're lost! We should never have listened to that little guy." 

"No, the cauldron symbol is still there, and there's light up ahead." 

"But we've been in here way too long, and I'm wet and cold and tired and hungry and—" 

"Yeah, it's been forever since the last time we got to eat." 

"Shut up, Gourry! You're making me think about it even more." 

"I swear, you two think with your stomachs." 

A moment later, Lina Inverse, Gourry Gabriev, and Zelgadis Greywords came trailing in. 

"Pokota!" Lina exclaimed. "We were starting to wonder what had happened to you!" 

"Is there anything to eat?" Gourry added. 

Zelgadis put one hand to his forehead, and sighed. 

"See that door over there?" I said, pointing. "Supplies for two thousand people for a week and a half. Canned with some fancy process to make it last twenty-five years without refrigeration. Can openers should be in one of the drawers. Help yourselves." 

Lina gave me a suspicious look. "And I bet it's all been there for fifty." 

I shook my head. "There was a rotation system. We'd use up the oldest tenth in a village-wide feast every spring and replace it. So the oldest stuff there now would be around sixteen years. But don't take my word for it—check the dates printed on the bottom." 

Gourry had already gotten the door open. The fact that he didn't have a flashlight and probably couldn't see more than vague silhouettes of the shelves didn't seem to bother him. He just grabbed a can at random—and these were the big #10 cans, so I hoped he hadn't gotten condensed milk or something—and carried it over to the counter to find a can opener. 

"Hey, save some for me!" Lina said, and hurried over. Poor Zel shook his head. 

Gaav raised the hand he didn't have wrapped around me to beckon his younger cousin. Zel frowned, but he walked over to stand closer to the stove. He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at us with a defensive expression on his face. 

"Did any of you see what happened to Rezo or Dynast?" my fiance asked. 

Zel shook his head. "I ducked out as soon as I could see again, and dragged Lina and Gourry with me. Don't tell me you're going to try to rescue them." 

"'Shot while trying to escape' is more like what I had in mind," Gaav said with a smirk. Zel looked . . . not quite horrified, but like he thought he _should_ be horrified. 

"I'd think this was a nightmare, except that I've never dreamed anything this messed up." 

"I did try to warn you," Gaav pointed out. 

"I guess you did. So, what's next?" 

"After we've all had a chance to rest, we're going to put Val's friend Jillas to work." 

"At what?!" came Lina's call from over by the counter, as she triumphantly held up half a peach impaled on a fork. "You're not making any sense!" 

My fiance smirked. "At making a doomsday weapon, since I doubt there's a real one here to find. But so long as we can make it light up nicely when we flip a switch, it doesn't matter if it actually works." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

We're going to have to improvise, of course. Rashatt was supposed to cache some stuff up here, but with the Paladins already sniffing around when he arrived, he wasn't able to pull it off. I had some of it packed under the seats of the jeeps, so we've got batteries and some other stuff to play with, but we're going to have to scavenge some shit here for the framework. Tin cans, even. Thanks to Val's people, it looks like we've got plenty of those, at least. 

If Dynast and President Gioconda and the Supreme Elder didn't all _want_ the fucking weapon to be real, this probably wouldn't work. But if there's a chance, even a small one, I'd bet they're going to try to negotiate. And then . . . well, let's just say that I don't intend to leave any survivors to tell the rest that I put one over on them.


	31. Chapter 31

I knew nothing at all about building machines, or fixing them. Neither of my parents had been especially handy around the house—one of Mom's brothers got called in to do anything more complicated than changing a lightbulb—and I hadn't learned much about mechanical or electrical stuff since, either. Gaav, Milgazia, Zelgadis and (surprisingly) Lina all seemed to know a thing or two, but it was Jillas and Pokota who were the inevitable stars of the show. A show I didn't get to see much of, because no one else had showed up at the rendezvous, so Gourry and I were the ones who drew front door duty after we'd lugged everything inside. 

I was surprised that the blonde man seemed to know how to handle a gun, judging from the way he held Gravos' pistol. He'd seemed like a total airhead in our previous encounters. 

" . . . What are you doing, following that girl around?" I asked after a long period of silence. 

"Girl . . . Oh, you mean Lina! Well, it's kind of a long story. Y'see, I'd just gotten discharged from the army—" 

I snorted. "Army? _You?_ " 

The chemical light stick we'd taken from the stored supplies was just bright enough for me to see Gourry rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah, I guess I really don't look the part anymore, do I? But I was a marksman with the Elmekian Army Counterinfiltration Unit for more than a year. Then I took a piece of shrapnel to the head and ended up with a medical discharge." 

My eyebrows were just about doing somersaults. Gaav hadn't exactly made me memorize the names of the elite units of the world's military forces, but he'd mentioned the Elmekian Counterinfiltration Unit a couple of times, and I knew they were beyond good at what they did. 

"You don't have any scars," was all I said. 

"Under my hair." 

"Oh." After a pause, I prompted, "You were going to tell me how you met Lina." 

"Oh, right. So I got in trouble with my family after my discharge. They said I wasn't the same as before, and maybe I'm not . . . but I think I'm happier now. Still, I didn't want to stay there, so I grabbed my passport and stuff and got on the first bus I found. Seyruun sounded interesting, so I went there. And then, just after I'd left the bus depot, I was walking down the street looking for somewhere to stay, and I saw this bunch of guys following a little girl into an alley. I figured I had to rescue her." 

"If that was Lina, I bet she didn't need any rescuing." 

Gourry rubbed the back of his head again and gave a little laugh. "Yeah, I figured that out afterwards." 

"And you stayed with her?" 

The blonde man shrugged. "Well . . . she has this way of making everything make sense for me. Since I got out of the army, it doesn't do that sometimes." 

I wasn't quite sure what to say to that, but at least I knew now why he seemed to have lost a few points of IQ somewhere along the line. 

We were supposed to be doing six-hour watch rotations, with one person trading off every three hours to keep things from getting too boring. So I was a little surprised when Milgazia showed up after maybe an hour and a half. Well, actually, I just about jumped out of my skin, because that stupid outfit of his looked awfully ghost-like in the greenish light from the glowsticks. I wished now that I'd tried to convince my grandfather to buy the orange ones instead, even if they'd been a bit more expensive. 

"They want you in back, Mr. Agares." 

I blinked. "Why?" 

The Paladin shrugged. "I think they want to know if there's anything in the building that they might be able to use. Your friend and Posel were complaining that they didn't have enough materials. I'll take your place here." 

"Fine, fine." I wasn't sure just how far I trusted him, but surely Gaav would have nixed this if he'd seen a problem. And he wouldn't have allowed Milgazia to go wandering off for no reason. 

I accepted the Paladin's glowstick and took a shortcut through the interior of the building, past a series of rooms originally intended as dormitories, to get back to the kitchen. 

" . . . 'Least the blinky lights and the coils look good," Jillas was saying when I got close enough to hear. 

"Except they're no good at all without something to put them in!" That was Pokota. 

Someone sighed. "Calm down, you two—we'll figure it out." Zelgadis. 

"I'm back," I said, stepping into the doorway. "Milgazia said something about you guys needing more materials . . . ?" There was a mess of stuff on the kitchen counter, some bits of it studded with lights that were blinking on and off, but I couldn't see it clearly because Jillas and Pokota were in the way. Lina and Zelgadis were a little further along, over by a toolbox, and I'd told Gravos to try to get some sleep before I left. I couldn't see Gaav, but someone was rummaging around in the storage area. He emerged a moment later, scowling, with cobwebs in his hair. He looked adorable—well, I thought he did, anyway. 

"Nothing useful back there," he said. "Val, have you got any idea where we'd be able to find a lot of metal in this place?" 

I shrugged. "If you don't care about the condition, the scrapyard by the old smithy. It's full of all kinds of rusty, corroded crap. If that isn't good enough, we're going to have to start taking stuff apart. Or opening cans." 

"We need something that looks like a cannon or something. An old one." 

I thought about it. "There's some old copper pots and stuff back there. Not very thick walls, and there's still tools in the smithy—big sledgehammers, tongs, stuff like that—so we should be able to reshape them a bit even without fire to help it along. We're just going to have to pound on them really hard." Although I had a feeling it would turn out to be a good thing that my lover had the build he did. And that he was a third again stronger than his size would suggest. 

"I've got to admit, it would feel _real_ good to pound the shit out of something right about now," Gaav admitted, cracking his knuckles. "Anything happening outside?" he added as he fell in beside me. 

I shook my head. "Some activity down by the town, but it's too far away to see much except some lights. They don't seem to be in any hurry to get up here." I paused by a glyph-marked wall, trying to remember which of three rather abstract markings we actually wanted to follow. 

"Really, why would they be? There's no roads out past here, and any helicopter that tries to land nearby without making nice with the army first is likely to get a Stinger up the ass. They probably think they can scoop us up whenever they want." 

Right, the glyph we wanted was the one that looked like a distorted crescent with the points aimed at the floor. Which meant the left-hand corridor. I led off in that direction. 

"One thing I've been wondering," my fiance added, "is why this place is so far from the town." 

I shrugged. "There used to be a village right outside—if you check carefully around the edges of the parking lot during the dry season, you can still find little stubs of brick walls. About three hundred years ago, there were some problems with the water supply, and most of the people moved into town." Funny, just how much of that crap from elementary school I'd retained. 

"What kind of problems? I'd bet the well in the kitchen goes straight into that 'problematic' water supply." 

"I don't remember. I think all they ever told us was 'problems'. If you really want to look it up, we could check the library later." 

"Hopefully we won't be here long enough for it to matter. Actually, if we're stuck here more than a couple of days, I'm going to start to get really worried about them bombing us out." 

"You don't _sound_ worried," I said. 

"Not yet." 

I twisted the ring on my finger. The one he'd given me. The only one I wore. _At least we would be together._ Not something I could say, of course. Too defeatist and depressing. But that didn't make it untrue. 

I groped for his hand in the vague, greenish twilight, found it, interwove it with mine. Saw his eyebrows jump with surprise, and the beginning of that familiar nasty grin as he turned toward me. 

"I really don't deserve you," he rumbled. 

"So maybe you're my prize for enduring all the crap I've been through," I said, just to hear him chuckle. It wasn't something I'd heard a whole lot, these past few days. 

" _Really_ don't deserve you," he repeated, and suddenly turned, putting his back to the wall and using our conjoined hands to pull me into his arms. When I tilted my head up to complain, I found myself receiving a very thorough kiss, his tongue pushing into my mouth and sparring with mine while his free hand squeezed my ass. Then he kissed his way along my jaw, giving my ear a quick nibble before starting to work his way down my neck. It sent shivers down my spine, and I groaned as I felt myself swelling inside my pants. It felt like forever since we hadn't been either too busy or too tired for more than a quick cuddle and a peck on the cheek. We should have been too tired now, but I felt like there was a crazed energy tingling along my nerves. I wanted him now, even though I knew it wasn't a good idea. 

"Wish I'd thought to bring some lube," was what dropped out of my mouth. 

"You need to work on your emergency kit, then. It's in my left thigh pocket. I promised myself that there was one thing I'd always be prepared for if I had you along." 

"I don't suppose you brought a bed, too," I said, glancing around. Stone walls, stone floor, all lit in eerie green because we were trying to conserve the flashlight batteries. 

"My pockets aren't that big . . . but I figured I could sit and you could straddle my lap. At least _part_ of you pretty obviously thinks that sounds good," he added, sliding his hand down between us so he could press it against my crotch. 

"Part of you does too," I retorted, since I could feel it pressing against my stomach. I leaned into him a bit more and distinctly felt it twitch, despite the layers of fabric still separating us. 

"Well, since we're in agreement, why the fuck are we wasting time?" he breathed against my ear. 

"You tell me," I said, fingers already busy with his belt. I stopped occasionally to stroke his cock through the cloth of his trousers, listening to the noises he made and feeling smugly satisfied that I could make him—my older, dominant, much more experienced lover—lose control just by touching him. He grabbed me by the shoulders as I finished with buckles and buttons and zippers and began to lift his cock out, and I knew I was going to end up with bruises because of the force of his grip. And I didn't give a damn. 

"Give me that lube," I told him, and stroked the exposed flesh, feeling the velvet-soft skin over the steely hardness, not to mention the sheer size of his erection. The wetness beginning to leak from the tip was only to be expected, under the circumstances. 

He groaned, a deep, throaty sound, and fumbled the tube from his pocket and into my hand. I took the cap off with my teeth, squirted some on my fingers, and began to rub it over him like it was some kind of lotion. 

"Fucking tease," he said thickly, and then my ass was suddenly bare. I just hoped he'd undone my belt and not snapped it. 

"If I'm going to ride you, you're going to have to sit down," I said, and he gave me a glare, but he also slid slowly down the wall, hands never leaving my skin. Pulling me down with him until I was sitting astride his knees, my own legs splayed to either side. Not a position that made it easy to wriggle one leg out of my pants, but I managed. Meanwhile, Gaav had curled his entire body forward and was kissing me—face, neck, shoulders, ears, he didn't seem to care what his lips touched so long as it was part of me. His hands found my nipples, squeezing gently and twisting, and it was my turn to make a wordless, helpless noise. 

I rose up on my knees and gave myself the quickest prep I'd ever done, knowing that I wasn't stretched enough and this was probably going to hurt, but not caring. Some of the glop in the shots at the lab was supposed to improve my healing factor, so even if I tore something, it shouldn't matter. 

I took his cock in my hand again and did my best to bathe it in lube. His breathing was very loud in the silent corridor, and I could tell from his expression that he was trying not to come. So was I, actually. I didn't even dare touch myself, although my cock was hard and leaking and I wanted any kind of contact very badly. 

I shuffled forward a bit, angling my hips. Guided the tip of his cock into place. Yes. Exactly like that. The strength was going out of my knees, so I let them fold, letting out a wanton moan as he slid into me, because, oh _fuck_ , it felt so good to be properly filled up. Even the burning ache of being stretched open too quickly sent shocks the length of my erection. 

Gaav pressed up into me, a short, sharp thrust, and I tipped back my head and howled. Every movement he made inside me rubbed up against my prostate, and he'd slid his hand between us and was working it up and down my length, stroking me, hard and quick. Not wanting to waste time. 

I didn't last long. I shifted my weight slightly, and his fingers brushed my balls, and that was it: I was spraying thick ropes of white into a handful of tissues that suddenly appeared in just the right place, and screaming I don't know what kind of crap. His name, I think. I know I yelled his name, and grabbed at his arms for support. 

"Fuck, you're loud tonight." Hand on my shoulder, hand on my back. Supporting me. I relaxed into his hold as he gave another of those little upward thrusts, and his cock slid into me even deeper. Maybe by just a hair, but we both noticed. "Fuck, Val . . ." 

"Love you," I said. Not loudly, looking down at his chest and stomach, but there was no way he wouldn't have heard me. His hips jerked upward again, and he tensed as hot wetness began to paint my insides. 

Afterwards, I didn't want to move. I just stayed there with my body leaning into his. Not caring that we were in the middle of a hallway where anyone could have seen us . . . if they'd dared try to follow us into the maze. Hell, if I'd been intending to worry about that, I would have done it before I'd mentioned the lube. 

"This was stupid," he said after what had to have been a good ten minutes of quiet. "And I'd hate not to have done it." 

"Yeah." I smiled, leaned a bit closer, closed my eyes. There was no way I could actually have brought myself to say that I wanted to cuddle, but . . . I did. Touch-starved, I guess. 

"Hey, don't fall asleep on me here. We still have to raid this fucking smithy of yours." 

"I know," I grumbled, and forced myself to open my eyes and begin to lever myself up. His softened cock slid out of me with a squelching noise. 

. . . Yeah, this had been a really stupid thing to do. Hopefully by the time we got back to the kitchen, we'd be smelling more of sweat and metal than of sex. Lina was just tactless enough to try to tease us about it. The lemon-scented wipe things Gaav pulled out of another capacious pocket would help a bit, but they couldn't fix everything. 

We did our best to clean up, and zip, button, and buckle up, and then went back to following the signs on the walls. Whatever they'd done to me in that lab was even more impressive than I'd thought, because I could _feel_ myself healing up, a faint warmth in my ass combined with the slow easing of the sting and burn of abused flesh. The damned signs led us around the long way, like they were designed to do. I almost tried to take a shortcut at one point, but I ended up passing it by because I wasn't a hundred percent sure of it, and taking time off to screw en route meant that we didn't have time to get lost. 

The forge, when we found it, was pretty much as I remembered it, with a big fireplace built into the side wall, three anvils of different sizes fanned out around it, a grindstone and a workbench with heavy clamps and some other crap I didn't understand, and a cobwebby rack of tools taking up half the back wall. The other half of the room was full of old metal scrap. Piles of it. Some of the smaller pieces were in crates, crudely separated into copper versus iron versus brass versus whatever, but bigger things were roughly stacked or just thrown in the corners. Gaav went over to the mess and started rummaging through, pulling things out of it—big copper pots with holes in their bottoms, mostly. He set several of them out in a row, frowned, fingered his chin, and began to ease himself sideways between two piles of metal to pull something else out. 

I went over to the tool rack and began to pull things off it. Some of the smaller tools were so corroded that they were welded in place, and I couldn't tell what they'd been used for anyway, but hammers and tongs were pretty recognizable and not so rusty they couldn't be used. Well, okay, crap flaked from the hinges of the tongs when I tried them, and the handles on a couple of the hammers were rotten, but there was enough that was still usable. 

I laid the tools that hadn't fallen apart in my hands out on the anvil, and looked around for Gaav. I couldn't see him—some of the crap in the junkpile was stacked all the way up to the ceiling—but greenish light was leaking out of one corner of the room, so I made my way back among the piles. 

My lover was standing in front of a dark opening in the wall, looking at it and frowning. 

"What do you make of this?" he asked as I came up beside him. 

I stuck my lightstick inside the opening for a better look, and found a narrow staircase leading down. It looked like it made a right turn at a landing about half a storey down. "Damned if I know. One of the hidden rooms, maybe. I don't think it was on the building plan we found, so I doubt anyone's been in there in hundreds of years." There was at least an inch of dust on everything, too. "Was it just hanging open when you found it?" 

He shook his head. "I put my hand on the wall for balance when I leaned down to check some of this crap, and one of the stones moved. Someone shorter would have really had to reach to work it, though. And I have to admit that I'm pretty fucking curious about why your ancestors locked whatever's down there up and threw away the key . . . but investigating it's too risky right now." 

"Actually, I doubt there's much risk. This place was built to last, so the stairs aren't likely to collapse or anything. Although there's a good chance that we're just going to find an empty room, or several of them." That was what had happened the time I'd found a forgotten secret door as a kid. I'd psyched myself up, borrowed a flashlight without asking, gone inside . . . and found a square little room full of dust with a few stone shelves on one wall. And a broken clay bead, lying forgotten in a corner. And then I'd finished up by having my ears chewed off by my grandfather. I'd been . . . eight? Nine? 

Gaav grimaced, glared at the opening in the wall. And then he sighed. "Fuck, either I go check it out, or I'm going to be thinking about it for the rest of the night. Not for any good reason, but just because I can't shake the idea that there might be a real superweapon down there somewhere that we can grab and use . . . you'd think I was old enough to know better." 

" _We_ go check it out, you mean," I said, and when he looked at me, I added, "If you find any glyphs down there, will _you_ be able to read them?" 

That got me a chuckle. "Okay. We'll take a quick peek. And then we really need to stop wasting time, or dawn's going to get here and we won't be ready for the next step of The Plan." 

Myself, I wasn't sure we could be said to be following The Plan anymore. Well, okay, we were somewhere out on contingency branch D, but so many unexpected things had happened that we'd lost large chunks of the expected setup. 

Gaav went first, cautiously, with one hand on the wall. He tested each stairstep with his toes before testing his weight to it. I thought he was being paranoid, but I wasn't about to tell him so. What really annoyed me was that I couldn't see past him—the stairs were that narrow. I mean, normally I enjoyed looking at his back, at the sway of his long hair alternately revealing and hiding the play of muscles as he moved, but not when the _whole point_ of what we were doing was to see what was up ahead. 

There were three landings, which I thought put us roughly on a level with the second subbasement when the stairs ended at an archway that let us out into a narrow room. It hadn't always been that small, though. Although three of the walls, including the one behind us, had been carved directly from the rock, the wall across from us had been constructed from bricks, tightly mortared from floor to ceiling. And right in the middle of the wall, someone had used more mortar to plaster over a section some two feet square, and drawn glyphs in it while it was still wet. The edges of the panel were crumbling a bit now, but the glyphs were still clear. 

There was one other entrance to the room, a wider arch in the left wall that led to a sloping tunnel, and Gaav went over to check it, scowling, before turning back and gesturing to the glyph panel. 

"Can you get anything from that chicken scratch?" 

I was already working on it. "Not well enough to just read it off, but this—" I touched a spiky-looking glyph. "—means 'danger', and this is 'weapon', and this one over here means 'forbidden'." They'd made sure we knew those really well, because (except for 'weapon') they were used in a lot of old warn-aways. "And there's a name here . . . I think it's 'Galbe'—no, 'Galveyra'." 

"'Galveyra'," Gaav repeated, clearly thinking hard. "Weapon, forbidden . . ." It would be hard _not_ to put those two concepts together and come up with a conclusion about what was behind the wall. He reached out and pushed on the brickwork, then felt along a line of mortar. "Shit. This hasn't deteriorated at all, and if the bricks are all the same size and the end-on ones aren't sticking out at the back, it has to be at least eight inches thick. We can try the forge hammers, but my bet is that we'd have to chisel through, and that would take more time than we have right now. Your great-great-grand-whatevers really didn't want anyone to get their hands on this thing ever again." 

I reached out slowly to touch the cool, rough brick. _Galveyra_. I'd never believed there really was a superweapon hidden on the clan's territory. _Joke's on me, I guess._ I wondered what kind of weapon it had been. "Ancient superweapon" made you think of all kinds of crazy shit, like floating fortresses straight out of a video game. Except that I didn't believe in magic. Or at least, I didn't think I did. 

"We'll have to come back after all of this is over," my lover was saying. "If there really is something behind here, someone's going to dig it up sooner or later. If it's just a museum piece, it doesn't matter, but . . ." 

"But if it really is some world-destroying superweapon, it's my responsibility—or ours, I guess—to get rid of it before someone tries to use it." I kicked the wall, just hard enough to show I was pissed off. Normal people's ancestors just left them old farmhouses and albums full of cruddy black-and-white photos, not potential disasters. "I'd almost be tempted to let the Paladins do it, except that I don't believe for a second that they'd really destroy anything they thought they might be able to use. Why the hell should we have to save the world?" _Haven't we had to wade through enough crap, just to stay alive?_

Gaav snorted. "It's a pretty low-key form of world-saving . . . but I'd be lying if I claimed I wasn't thinking the same thing. Let's go—there's nothing more we can do here right now." 

I was in the lead on the way back up the stairs. I'd almost made it to the first landing when everything shook, and I was thrown back against Gaav, who steadied me. 

"What the _hell_?" I snarled. 

"Tactical ordnance, and not too far away," Gaav said, brows knitting together. "Unless it's earth tremors, but I don't fucking believe in coincidences that big. Get up the stairs. There's going to be more, and this space is too narrow and unsupported." 

I scrambled up past the first landing, then the second. We were midway to the third when the shaking started again, and this time it was my lover who lost his balance and was thrown against the nearest steady object, which happened to be a wall. 

And then there was a rumble and part of that wall gave way. 

I remember what came next as a series of flashes. Grabbing Gaav's arm. Being pulled off-balance. Realizing that he was heavier than I was. Falling, clutched in his arms, his body wrapped around mine. And then the abrupt stop at the bottom. 

I'd dropped the glowstick I'd been using, and it had smashed against the ground, leaving a puddle of glowing green goop that was getting dimmer pretty quickly, but that was still enough light to give me a view of a small slice of hell. 

Gaav lay under me on the ground, face slack, clearly out cold. There was a puddle of blood already forming not far from his ear. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I have the weirdest fucking dreams sometimes. More often since I met Val, but I've had them occasionally ever since I can remember. 

I dream of being a god. And it isn't fucking wish fulfillment, either. I'm a god of war and slaughter, a god in exile, a god persecuted by those who were once his brothers and sisters. I stride across the world with a sword in my hands, and I bring death to my enemies. There's even more blood on my hands in the dreams than there is in the waking world, and I'm . . . not quite indifferent to it, but almost. Irritated at the waste more than anything. 

Val's by my side there, too. Well, okay, there's a horn growing from his forehead, but other than that he's pretty much the same, scarred and angry and proud. Even in my sleep I don't want to do without him, I guess. But half the time, the dreams end in wrenching pain and the knowledge that I'm leaving him all alone and the bitter taste of guilt in my mouth. 

I don't ever want to do that to him. Ever.


	32. Chapter 32

He was still breathing. I went back every few minutes to check. Still breathing. Still alive. I had to be content with that for the moment. I didn't dare try to wake him up, or even move him off the pile of rubble, because who knew what bones he might have broken on the way down? I didn't want to make anything worse. At least he wasn't bleeding, as far as I could tell, not now that I'd taped some gauze over his head wound. 

Thank Ceiphied we'd each been carrying multiple glowsticks, and none of the extras had gotten squished when we'd landed. So we at least had light, and a bit of food and water—the pseudo-military kit we'd both been carrying included water purification tablets and two of some kind of protein bar, and Gaav had a canteen with him. And there was more water somewhere nearby—I could hear it running. 

Things could have been worse. I kept telling myself that. Things could have been much worse. 

As for where we'd landed, well, as far as I could tell, it was an unimproved natural cave. We might be the only humans to ever have visited it. I hoped not, though. Other humans having come down here at some point would suggest there was a way out. So far, I hadn't found anything, but I'd been working my way out in a spiral from where Gaav lay, and I hadn't even reached the nearest wall yet, although I was finally close enough to see one. The only footprints showing on the sandy ground were mine, and the rocks studding it were too far apart to make jumping from one to the other a reasonable way of getting from A to B. 

Another half-turn of the spiral, and I went back to Gaav's side. He was still out cold, and I checked his temperature quickly, testing his cheek first, then his hand. I was afraid he would get chilled—it wasn't that cold down here, but it wasn't warm, either, and I didn't have anything to cover him with. My own body heat would be of limited help, since I was pretty sure I was only staying warm because I was moving around. So far, my fiance's body seemed to be up to coping with the conditions, but . . . 

I shook my head. _Focus on what you should be doing, not on worrying about stuff you can't change._ It was a mantra that had helped me through a fair amount of hell in the past. Hopefully it would help me through this chunk of it as well. 

Four more increasingly large sweeps, and I finally found something other than sand and rocks. Or more accurately, tripped over it. 

At first it just looked like a pile of sticks. Then I noticed that, in addition to being barkless, the sticks in question were of roughly uniform length and thickness, and each of them had one end that looked like it had been dipped in something. Torches? And originally stacked together in a neat pile before I had kicked them over, judging from the traces in the sand. I glanced around, and a little further along, right at the limits of the light from my glowstick, there was something leaning against the wall. Three more steps forward, and I was staring at an undoubtedly ancient twig broom. The floor nearby sloped upward, with more rock and only small patches of sand. 

I covered my mouth to keep a semi-hysterical laugh from sneaking out. So someone, presumably my ancestors, _had_ been here. And had cleaned up neatly after themselves when they left. It reminded me of my grandmother, the one who didn't like men in her kitchen. She'd also been very proud of the way she could keep her house clean with just a broom and dustpan, no vacuum cleaner. 

_Get a grip,_ I told myself. The broom was less important than the torches. The torches meant that they'd at least _considered_ coming back, and left supplies here, just in case. That meant there was probably a way out, somewhere down here. We just had to find it. 

Two more turns of the spiral, and I'd found three different sections of wall. I decided to check on Gaav, and then follow those walls and trace the outline of this space. 

He still hadn't moved. I told myself that it was the greenish light that made him look so pale. 

It really bothered me that I didn't have a blanket for him. A little warmth was a pretty minimal comfort, but it was one I couldn't even offer him. Thank Ceiphied he didn't seem to have gone into shock. 

The cave was bigger than I'd expected, with several passages leading out. There had been glyphs at the mouths of most of them once, I thought, drawn in charcoal. I could still see a few corners and edges that had been missed when someone rubbed them out. I did find the water, an entire underground river of it, by venturing a short distance through the opening where the rushing sound seemed loudest. Following it might even eventually lead to the water purification plant outside town . . . but after about ten feet, there was no way we _could_ follow it without going for a swim, and the current looked pretty strong. But we weren't going to get dehydrated, anyway. 

My watch—the one he'd insisted I wear even though my cell phone could give me the time, because you didn't have to constantly recharge a watch, and it was more difficult to damage—showed we'd been down here about two hours, and I was getting really tired. It had been a long day. Gaav still hadn't stirred, and I piled a little sand over the rubble to level it before curling up beside him. 

I slept fitfully. Twice I jolted awake from dreams of falling. The second time, I was in the dark. It took a moment to remember where I was, and I wasn't very happy when I did. Without light, the cave became intensely sinister, although I hadn't seen a single sign that anything was alive down here other than us, not even a beetle. I buried my face in Gaav's shoulder and tried to calm myself using the warmth of his body. It did work a bit. 

After four hours, I gave up and activated another glow stick. Time to start systematically working my way through those openings until I found the exit. If I did, maybe I could get help for my fiance. Maybe. We were a long way from the nearest hospital, and it would be difficult to call in an airlift without sabotaging The Plan. 

But if it came to it, I would do it. The dead are pretty damned patient. Given the choice between my revenge and keeping Gaav alive, I'd postpone the revenge. I'd gotten one good chance already, and it had taken me less than ten years. If I worked hard enough, I'd be able to get another one before I turned thirty. And maybe if I had to wait another five or ten years, I'd be able to stage the attack myself, instead of leaning on my by-then-husband. 

No, I shouldn't lie to myself. If Gaav was there, I _would_ lean on him. Because he'd want me to. 

The first two passageways turned out to be dead ends: old storage rooms, I thought. One of them still held a couple of broken pots. The third was a dead end of quite a different kind. 

I stared in dismay at the thick wall in front of me. Mortared bricks. It might even have been the back of the same wall that we'd found before. Either way, I wasn't going to make it anywhere along this passage. 

You run into these stupid stories in books and movies about people digging their way out of dungeons and stuff with a spoon. Well, we had a couple of field knives, which was _slightly_ better, but I still didn't want to try it if there was any other way. Hell, I might try to climb back up to the hole we'd fallen in through first, although it was in an awkward location in the middle of the ceiling, and the staircase above might have collapsed in on itself. I might just be able to reach it if I stood on Gaav's shoulders, but before I could try that, he needed to wake up. 

Still, I was going to keep looking for another way, if only because it pissed me off to think I was turning into a dependent little creampuff. Gaav might be the center of my world these days, but I was not going to let myself turn into a fucking damsel in distress. 

Fourth passageway. This one led downward, but I followed it anyway, because natural caves twist around and it might end up heading upward again. The ceiling gradually lowered until I was crawling, with the glowstick stuffed down my shirt and the end sticking out to still give me a little light. So I did see the water just before I put my hand in it. When I pulled out the glowstick for a better look, I discovered that the tunnel kept descending until it was all the way underwater, with no end in sight. I wasn't going to try that—crawling along underwater, holding my breath, with no guarantee there was an other side to come out on—until after I'd tried to chip my way through the brick wall. At least I could be reasonably sure that had an other side. 

The water worried me, though. The rainy season had only just begun. What if the larger cave where we'd fallen through started to fill with water? I might have to risk moving Gaav. And even that might not be enough if we were stuck down here too long. It might end up being a race to see if we starved to death before we drowned. 

I grimaced, shook my head, backed out of the fourth passage and went to try the fifth. It didn't have any glyph remnants, and I soon discovered why, as the ceiling slanted downward until there wasn't even enough space for me to wriggle on my belly. I backed out quickly before I got pinned like a bug in one of those museum displays. 

The sixth passageway seemed the most hopeful. For one thing, it had seen the touch of human hands, because someone had used bricks and mortar to level the floor, and chiseled a bit off the ceiling where it started to dip. And it sloped upward slightly. 

A long passageway, and when I'd climbed it and turned a corner, I found a door, wooden, very old, with corroded hinges and a wooden bar with brackets instead of a knob. There had been something painted on it once, from the look of it, but either it had mostly worn away or the glow stick didn't provide enough light for me to make it out. All I knew was that I had to see what was on the other side. 

The bar was stuck to the brackets. It splintered when I gave it a sharp tap, and I ended up lifting it out of the way in chunks . . . which turned out to be wasted effort, because when I discovered the door wouldn't move, and kicked it, it came apart too, leaving a bunch of splintered, rotted wood at the bottom of the frame. 

The room on the other side was big. I stepped in and raised the glow stick up high, but all I could make out was a raised platform at the center and a hulking, shadowy shape. Well, fine then. I made my way across the floor . . . the fancy, mosaic-paved floor . . . what the hell was this? No actual glyphs that I recognized, but similar patterns. 

I still didn't understand what I was seeing when I got close enough to the platform for the greenish light to pick up metal, tarnished and somewhat corroded, and a hip-high pyramid of globes of rock the size of my head. I had to get up on the platform and walk around the metal thing before I managed to figure out what it was. 

A cannon. There was a Ceiphied-damned _cannon_ in the caves underneath the old temple. Made of bronze, maybe, or at least it was covered in green crap and not rust. The globes of rock had to be intended as cannonballs. There had been a wheeled cart thing under it once, too, but that was half-collapsed now, with the wheels leaning against the sides of the cannon. That was one of the reasons it had been difficult to figure out what I was looking at. 

There was a plaque with glyphs on it set into the platform in front of the cannon's mouth, right beside the pile of cannonballs. I squatted down and dusted it off so that I could get a better look. 

_Galveyra._ That was right at the top, in larger glyphs. I blinked. Tried to read the smaller glyphs lower down. _Weapon-danger-negation. People-peace._ A lot more that I couldn't read, but I got enough to assemble the gist of what it had to be saying. 

_We seal this weapon here so that it will never be used again, as a mark of our commitment to bring peace to all peoples._

The ancient superweapon. 

A Ceiphied-damned primitive cannon. 

It made sense, when you thought about it. Centuries ago, when the legends about Galveyra had arisen, a cannon _would_ have been a superweapon. Cannonballs could take down walls and destroy groups of fighters bunched together. Canisters of scrap metal or even flint could have been used on men less tightly grouped. Add some really primitive grenades, and the Ancient Clan might have ruled this area for quite a while on the strength of its military might. 

The superweapon we'd been dangling in front of everyone, the magic kill-all that we'd been hoping—just a little—might be able to save our necks, the weapon for which my people had effectively sacrificed themselves, was a _cannon_. 

I meant to sit back on my heels, but instead landed on my ass on the dusty platform, staring up at Galveyra. There was a pain in my chest. 

When the laugh finally came out, it sounded hysterical. But you couldn't say that was surprising. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

We were named after the kids Ruby-Eye supposedly had, according to some really obscure apocryphal scriptures. When I first found that out, I wasn't sure whether I wanted to laugh my ass off, or paste Dad's face to something and pound on it. Maybe both at once: pound the shit out of Dad in effigy while laughing my ass off. Of course, I couldn't do either, because I was in public at the time, and playing Father Kotomine. 

It was probably Rezo's suggestion, anyway. I mean, what would Dad have known about obscure religious crap? Still, it felt awfully weird finding out I'd been named after a three-headed dragon with apocalyptic tendencies. Or maybe it felt too appropriate. Especially when I was trying to squeeze myself into a pacifist suit that didn't fit very well. I remember thinking it was hard to find a suit that fit when you had three heads, and trying not to crack a very weird-looking smile. 

By the time I'd gotten to somewhere that I could express myself, I'd calmed down a bit and reaccustomed myself to the idea that the world in general, and my family in particular, are fucking crazy. But the whole thing stuck in my mind—not just the information, but my reaction to it. 

It was only months later that I realized that it was as close as I'd ever come to cracking and going just as crazy as the rest of the family. Over a bit of weird trivia. Guess it hit a little too close to home, in a way that bottle of tequila and the dead man's passport didn't. Still, it's weird that I know exactly how that laugh would have sounded, if I'd been able to let it out. Edged and hysterical and way too high-pitched. 

It was a sound I hoped I'd never hear in real life. 

You can imagine how fucking happy I wasn't when it started to seep into the dream I was having.


	33. Chapter 33

"Val?" 

Slow, shuffling steps and the sound of a familiar voice snapped me out of my hysterics. I wasn't sure how long I'd been laughing. 

"I'm here!" I called, scrambling to my feet. 

I met Gaav by the broken door. He looked terrible, not just pale and greenish from the awful light, but sweaty and sagging slightly, leaning against the wall. I wanted to lunge into his arms and kiss him all over, but that probably would have knocked him over. And besides, it would have been embarrassing. 

"It feels stupid to ask if you're all right, but . . ." I said, and shrugged. 

Gaav grimaced and touched his head. "Concussed, I think. I feel like shit—nausea, headache, wonky vision—but it won't kill me, and thanks to my days as a lab rat, it'll probably go away on its own in less than a day now that I'm awake. Just don't ask me to do any delicate shooting until I can see straight again. Where the fuck are we?" 

"Underneath the temple. I don't know how deep—we fell through the ceiling—but I saw something that might be the other side of the brick wall from before." 

"And that?" Gaav jerked his thumb in the direction of the raised platform. 

"Is Galveyra." 

"You're fucking kidding me." 

I shook my head. "There's a plaque . . . and when I thought about it, it kind of made sense. I mean, it's almost a thousand years old, and while my grasp of history might be kind of sketchy, I'm pretty sure it would have been the only cannon in this part of the world back then." 

Gaav gave it an evil look. "So much for that idea, I guess. Now we just have to get out. I take it there's no easy exit, or you would have gone for help while I was out cold." 

I nodded. "I think I've checked out most of the area now, and there are three things we can try. The most likely one is having you boost me up to the hole where we fell in, and then I go get some rope from the supplies and lower it to you. If the stairway up top didn't fall in on itself. Or we can try to dig through the brick wall with crap tools, and get out in who-the-fuck-knows-how-long if we don't starve to death. Or we can try jumping in the river, which would be quick but really, really risky." 

My fiance grunted. "Let's try the hole up top first." 

We had to pile a few rocks for him to stand on top of before I could reach the opening well enough to get a grip on the edge and haul myself up. 

The good news was that there was still a staircase on the other side of the hole. 

The bad news was, it had originally been much longer than it was now, and it was the upper end that had fallen in. I looked the rubble over carefully, but it seemed to be a solid plug. I wasn't going to get through it without time and effort, assuming that it was possible at all, and that the room beyond hadn't fallen in too. 

When I swung down from the opening, dangling by my hands, then let go, Gaav caught me by the waist and eased me to the ground. He raised an eyebrow. 

I shook my head. 

"Fuck. So much for your ancestors' construction skills." 

"There aren't any earthquakes here," I said defensively. "How the hell would they have known how to deal with the ground shaking?" 

He ignored that. "Show me the river." 

I grimaced. It wasn't that I didn't understand and agree: even if we were willing to chip through the brick wall, if it was the other side of the one we'd already found, breaking through it would just leave us in a blocked stairwell. That left the water as the only exit. But . . . Oh, hell, there was no way around it. 

"I can't swim," I admitted. 

Gaav blinked, as though I'd just spoken in a foreign language. "Fuck. Are you serious?" 

"Of course I'm serious," I growled. "Where the hell would I have learned? The town doesn't have a swimming pool, in case you hadn't noticed, and the river isn't safe even during the dry season. Everywhere around here has either not enough water or too much, depending on the time of year. I couldn't exactly take lessons while I was living on the street in Seyruun, either." 

My lover scowled. "Well. Unless the current's somehow managed to stay gentle even with all the rain, I'd bet we're not going to be doing much swimming anyway. More like flailing to stay on the surface and trying not to bash into rocks. We'll go in together with you holding onto me, I guess. That should improve your chances of getting out of here in one piece." 

"And mess up yours." I could feel my hands clenching into fists. Why was he being stupid all of a sudden? 

"If I lose you when I could have saved you, I'm just going to end up dying anyway," Gaav admitted, scowling even more deeply. 

"Who the hell are you, and what did you do with my boyfriend?" I retorted. "You've never been interested in stupid romantic crap before now, so why the sudden change?" 

He looked away. "Because I always half-intended to go out in a blaze of glory while taking down my fucking miserable excuse for a family. You're the reason I moved past that . . . and without you, it feels like there isn't much of a point in surviving it. I have a better chance of winning if I don't care about my own life, after all. The truth is, I don't much matter to anyone except you." 

"Bullshit!" I pretty much yelled it in his face, and my fists tightened until my nails dug into my palms. "I dare you to go back to the Lower Waterford church and say that to the congregation. Hell, I dare you to say it to Dolphin, or even Zelas! You matter to more people than you think you do. And if you _ever_ start saying otherwise again, I'm going to beat on you until you change your mind!" 

"Hitting an injured man?" But a hint of a smile crept across his face. 

"Beating some sense into an idiot!" I retorted. And felt relieved when he chuckled. When was the last time I'd heard that sound? It seemed like forever. 

"I really don't deserve you," he said. "And I still need a look at that river. Don't worry, we won't be going in until either my vision clears a bit more, or I decide it's a lost cause. In the meanwhile, I'll teach you everything I can about swimming without actually getting in the water." 

I had a feeling that wasn't going to do much good, but it was still better than nothing, so I kept my mouth shut. 

"The first thing you need to remember is not to panic," he began as we walked. "You know that already, or you should. Panic kills, regardless of the situation. The second is, water has substance. Not a lot of it, but you can push on it—you probably made waves in the bathtub as a kid. Same principle, but to swim, you need to push against it harder and with more efficiency . . ." 

I was listening as much to just the sound of his voice as what he was saying. The deep rumble of it made me feel warm inside. We'd been down here for—I checked my watch—about ten hours now, and for nine and a half of them, the only voice I'd been able to hear was my own. 

While I'd been playing with cannons and holes in the ceiling, the river had gotten higher. The patch of dry land where the tunnel met the bank was only about five feet wide now, and the water itself was brown and murky. I stared at it in dismay. 

"Well, fuck," my lover said. "This is going to be one hell of a ride. We're definitely not going in there until I recover a little bit more. And we need to check whether the glowsticks are waterproof." 

A bit of driftwood the length of my index finger and a bit less wide than my thumb had somehow made its way into the caves to wash up here. Gaav tied my nearly-spent glowstick to it with some string and tossed it into the water. We watched it bob rapidly along, first on the surface of the water, then under it, but some of the green radiance stayed visible through the murk until it was quite a ways away. 

"I guess the answer is 'yes'," I said. "Stands to reason—they're full of liquid, and it would be a pain in the ass if they leaked." 

Gaav grunted agreement and said, "We should probably eat something. We'll try this after we're done—waiting's just going to let more water come in." 

I winced. More water was the last thing we needed right now. 

"What do you think's happening outside?" I asked, to distract myself. 

"With that many volatile personalities and heavy weapons in such a small area? Gunfire would be my guess. As for who's shooting at who . . ." Gaav shrugged. "Hard to tell, really. It depends on things like whether Milgazia's backbone is holding and whose reinforcements showed up first. And what that Duclis really wants to do, and why. I really can't figure him. And then there's Lina, and Pokota. And Rezo. They're all fucking nuts. Random factors are always a pain in the ass." 

"So we can't make any plans." 

"Not a one. Eat, Val." Gaav suited actions to words by taking out one of the protein bars from his kit. 

I unwrapped one of mine, and bit in. They were supposed to be peanut butter flavoured, but they didn't taste much like peanuts to me, and Gaav muttered something about never letting Rashatt have anything to do with procurement again as he ate his. Well, I'd eaten worse. I forced it down, along with a couple of sips from Gaav's canteen to get the cloying taste out of my mouth. I didn't want to drink more water than that, not with the torrent rushing only a few feet away. 

We each had a waterproof bag—part of the kit again. Essential things went in, mostly our guns and ammo. And the two remaining protein bars, just in case. 

Then it was time. My mouth was dry as I went to the edge of the brown torrent. Dry. Despite the water. I might have laughed, except that I was afraid I'd go hysterical again. 

We took off our boots and tied them to beltloops by their laces—it was that or stuff them inside our shirts, since neither of us wanted to be left barefoot if we made it outside. 

"Hold on as hard as you need, but don't try to grapple," my lover said as I gripped the back of his belt with both hands. "If I can't move my arms, then we're probably both finished." 

There was something in his voice—nothing so obvious as a tremble, but the shadow of a hint of a false note—that made me ask, "Do you really have any idea what you're doing?" 

A pause. Then, "Not as much as I'd like," he admitted. "It isn't like I'm a lifeguard or anything. All I know for sure is that this way, if we don't make it, we'll go down together. And if it comes to that, don't you _dare_ feel fucking guilty for dragging me down. There are a lot of worse ways I could go than while trying to save your life. Got it?" 

I scowled. "Yeah." 

"Okay, then, here we go." 

Three steps to the water. We hit an invisible drop-off at the end of the third step, and I lost my balance and clung to Gaav in water that came to six inches above my knees. 

"Steady," my fiance said. "We'll wade as far as we can, but I don't think there's going to be enough space to go the whole way to wherever this exits like that." 

Enough strictly air-filled space, he meant. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, to keep from whimpering, and followed him downstream along the edge of the river as the water rose toward my waist. I could feel the current trying to pull me off my feet, and tightened my grip on Gaav's belt until my knuckles were white. You couldn't reason with the water, or beat it into submission, and I was helpless and scared and I didn't want anyone else to know, not even Gaav. 

The ceiling of the cavern gradually fell until Gaav had to duck, and the current got worse as the water inched toward my armpits, but we stayed on our feet until my lover lost his balance. With a snarled "Fuck!", he went over sideways, and my grip on his belt dragged me with him, into the deeper water. 

Somehow he twisted in the water and got one arm around me, hugging me to his chest. I put both my arms around his waist and then did my best not to move, although it was a constant struggle against the stupid panicky part of my brain that wanted to flail desperately against the water even though I didn't have a hope of keeping us both afloat. 

Gaav at least seemed to know which way was up, his knees knocking my calves as he kicked powerfully. We broke the surface a few seconds later, and I gulped gratefully at the air. It was almost completely dark—we each had a glowstick inside our shirts, but they were pinned between our bodies and didn't give off much light. 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah," I forced out. 

"Good, because the ceiling's getting lower. We may not have much air for a while." 

"Shit," I said, and closed my eyes. 

I had a few moments of darkness that would have been peaceful if not for the noise of the water before he warned, "Deep breath—we're going under." 

I took the deep breath, and Gaav pivoted us in the water so that our heads were pointed more forward than up. The ceiling still skimmed my hair as we went under. When Gaav began to kick, propelling us along faster in the same direction as the current, I cautiously began to add my own efforts, figuring he'd find some way to let me know if I was doing more harm than good. Thump me, probably, or at least that's how I would have handled it in his place. But he didn't, so I kept kicking. 

My lungs were screaming by the time we were able to surface again, into a space that wasn't much more than an air pocket where the tunnel ceiling rose a bit. I didn't even know how Gaav had found it. 

"Not much air here," he warned. "We're going back under in a few seconds." 

"Right," I said, and sneezed, because I'd gotten water up my nose. 

If anything, it was worse when we went under again, because the current started getting stronger, and I could hear a roaring noise. We slammed into the first rock before we could even see it through the murky water—hell, I couldn't even tell you what colour it was. Gaav pushed us away from it, and somehow spotted the next one coming quickly enough to fend us off it, although the water tore us past it so fast I skinned my hand. Rapids. In an underground river. Hell. 

We'd spun around in the water, and the third rock hit my back and knocked the breath out of me. Still no air, but I clamped my mouth shut around the last escaping bubble, because I was damned if I was going to give up, even if there were red and black spots dancing in front of my eyes. I hadn't survived all the crap I'd gone through just to be killed by a river. 

Then suddenly there was light—not greenish glowstick light, but white light—and Gaav was swimming toward it. I gasped for air the moment my head broke the surface, feeling woozy and not caring if half of what I ended up breathing was water. 

The next moment, I had the breath driven out of me again as we hit . . . something. Not a rock this time. Vertical metal bars extending across the full width of the underground river. 

"Can you get a grip on that?" Gaav asked. "I'm going to haul myself up out of the water a bit and see if I can figure out where we are." 

"I'm fine," I said, and reached out to grip the bars with both hands. I suddenly realized that I could taste blood. I'd bitten almost through my lower lip at some point during my struggles with panic in the water, and was only feeling it now. 

My lover grabbed the bars beside me, and, with a grunt, lifted his entire upper body out of the water for a few seconds. 

"There's some kind of installation here," he said, dropping back. "And if we work our way along these, there's a ladder and a catwalk. Fuck, I'd bet the bars are here to keep workers from being swept away downriver." 

It took me a moment to process that. "We're probably at the town's water treatment plant," I said. "The one you had that engineer restart part of." 

"That would explain the lights, all right. Let's just hope that no one else is down here." Gaav began to work his way hand-over-hand along the bars as he spoke. 

The ladder at the end was some kind of plastic-coated metal, and my arms felt like limp noodles as I hauled myself up. Once on the catwalk, I collapsed on my side and just breathed, not caring that the metal-grid surface I was lying on was imprinting itself on my face. Gaav was standing maybe a yard from my nose, wringing the worst of the water from his hair and clothing. He put his boots back on, grimacing at the squelching noise they made, and then opened the waterproof bag that had his guns in it. He dry-fired the revolver, sighting down the barrel at the water, then put it back into the bag. 

"Until we dry out a bit more, it'll just get wet if I put the holster back on," he said. 

"The wet clothes would make for a nice view if I had just a little more energy," I said, turning my head. 

"Yeah, but we need to put on something dry if we can find it. The last thing we need is one of us ending up with hypothermia. C'mon." 

I sighed and levered myself up off the surface of the catwalk, wishing that the waterproof bags had been big enough for our clothes, too. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

He made it. 

I was terrified that he wouldn't. Terrified that I wouldn't be able to protect him enough from something he had no way of facing down on his own. Not yet, anyway. 

It had never even occurred to me that he might not know how to swim. I mean, I knew that being thrown into a tank when you were three and left there until you either figured it out or were right on the edge of drowning wasn't normal, but _everyone_ on Wolf Pack knew how to swim. It's all the beaches, I guess. 

He's so different from me, and so . . . precious. I feel dirty just writing that, even in code, but it's true. 

I have a feeling, though, that he's just as worried about protecting me. I saw it when I woke up: the glowstick beside me, to keep me from waking up alone in the dark, and the patterns his feet had made in the sand, always returning to my side. 

It makes my blood boil when I think about how fucking helpless he must have felt. I know, because I would have felt the same in that situation, and he hasn't even had the field medical course yet. Another thing we had to skip because of time. 

I'm almost regretting pushing things ahead so fast, so soon, but it was so fucking _perfect_ , with Pokota and Rezo and the Paladins and La Gioconda and all the ducks lining up neatly single-file. I should have known it was too good to be true, should have held off for the year or two it would have taken to bring Val up to his potential. Too late, though. We're going to have to bull forward with what we have.


	34. Chapter 34

We did eventually find some coveralls, dusty and probably none too clean otherwise either, in some lockers at the top of what felt like fifty flights of stairs. None of them fit Gaav, of course, but he did some quick tailoring with his field knife on a set whose former owner had had a generous waist measurement and ended up with a pair of knee-length shorts. So far, we hadn't spotted signs that anyone but the Syndicate men who had come to the plateau with us had been here since the massacre. 

We hung our wet clothes in the lockers, out of sight, and I pushed a mop we found around a bit to spread out the water on the floor so that it would dry faster and make it less obvious that we'd passed through. Although we couldn't hide the fact that the dust was gone. 

The above-ground part of the plant seemed empty, although with the noise coming from the generator and the pumps, we might not have noticed a couple of guys on guard a room or two over, unless they were talking to each other or something. They wouldn't have noticed us, either. 

Since we didn't know our way around the place and our initial attempt to follow the Exit signs led us to a side door with an attached alarm—which might not have been live, but we couldn't take the chance—we had to wander the halls carefully opening doors and aiming our guns around corners. 

And then we opened a door into an area full of weird control console things and someone called out, "Commander!" and I almost pulled the trigger in a plain spasm of surprise. 

"Who's there?" Gaav asked sharply. 

"Vrumugun, sir. Engineering squad." 

"Come out to where we can see you." 

A man slid out from under one of the control consoles and displayed himself with his hands up. He was one of the most nondescript people I had ever met: medium height, medium build, medium brown hair with a growing bald patch right on top. His face was blandly average and expressionless to the point that he looked like an android. I glanced at Gaav, who nodded: he recognized the man, and he really was one of ours. 

"What are you doing here?" my lover asked as he lowered his gun. 

"I was on-shift here when the army arrived, sir," the man replied. "Due to the years without maintenance, this equipment needs to be monitored closely. I volunteered to stay behind. I heard what happened over the radio, but couldn't leave because I had no workable transport. Sir." 

Gaav's eyes narrowed. "Your squad had two vehicles. If they followed procedure, they should have left you one." 

"They did, sir. We were ordered to park somewhere we wouldn't be visible from the air, and in this location, that meant under the trees at the edge of the parking lot. Which is an unpaved area." 

"You're saying your jeep is mired down," I put in, hoping to speed things up. 

"To the hubcaps, sir." 

My lover scowled. "Just fucking great. Well, with three of us, maybe we'll be able to get it loose. You got anything to eat, other than these shitty protein bars Rashatt stuck us with?" 

Vrumugun shook his head. "A case of those, sir. Nothing else." 

"Let's wait until we get back to the temple, if there's anything left of it," I said. "'Cause I'd rather have canned peaches or something." 

"Yeah, if I have to eat another one of those fucking things any time soon, it's going to come back up in less than thirty seconds," Gaav agreed. "Ideally, on Rashatt's feet. Let's go have a look at this jeep of yours." 

It really was mired up to the edges of the hubcaps, sunk a couple of inches into the mud. Gaav walked a circle around it at a distance, scowling, then ducked back into the building's entryway. 

"The ground's too soft to just get behind it and push," he said as I helped him dry himself off using old paper toweling from the building's washrooms. "We're going to need ropes. Or cables. And something to put in front of the tires to keep it from sinking in again once it starts to move. And hope that no one spots us from the air while we're working on it." 

"We could leave it," I suggested. "I mean, okay, twenty miles isn't just an easy stroll, but I'm pretty sure you and I could be at the temple by sundown." 

My fiance shook his head. "We've got too many disadvantages already. If we can secure transport, I think we need to take a chance. Plus, this fucking rain makes everything harder, and you and I have already had a rough day. An hour spent digging out a jeep beats six or more hours of cross-country hiking anytime." 

I wasn't sure which would be worse for a guy with a concussion, but because I didn't know, I couldn't really say anything. I just gritted my teeth and whenever a job came up that either of us could do, I offered immediately. I was the one who tied the ropes and splashed through the mud to put plastic storage bin lids in front of the jeep's tires, and went back inside with muddy boots and blue lips to towel off and try to warm up a bit before the final haul. 

We did manage to get the jeep out of the mud. I was kind of surprised, really, because it had to weigh a literal ton. Something should have gone wrong, like one of the ropes snapping . . . but no, Gaav and I hauled, Vrumugun steered, and we got it back onto the pavement. 

My fiance let the engineer drive us back up to the temple, sitting in the back with me with his eyes closed and his knees drawn up to his chest to help retain body heat. I didn't know whether he was getting worse or just being cautious, and once again I had to grit my teeth and _not ask_ , because we weren't alone and he was supposed to be in charge. All I could do was surreptitiously test the temperature of his bare arm, which at least didn't seem to be colder than my hand. 

The temple still squatted among the hills like a large grey toad, but there were fresh scars on the stones, and the other jeep, the one Gravos had driven up here, was missing from the parking lot. 

"Bullets," Gaav said grimly, examining one of the pale marks that had happened to end up in a position where it was sheltered from the rain. "Let's go inside." 

We all pulled out our guns, even Vrumugun, and advanced cautiously, covering the doorways. By the light of an ugly green glowstick, I saw more bullet pockmarks in the lobby. At least there didn't seem to be any blood. 

Gaav was staring at the dust on the floor. "Hard to tell from this mess, but I think whoever was guarding the door split up and ran down different hallways. Smartest thing they could have done, given what a fucking rabbit warren this place is." He scowled, eyebrows drawing together. "We'll go straight to the kitchen for now. If there's anyone still here, that's where we'll find them, and there've been enough people stirring up the dust around here that we won't be able to track anyone anyway." 

A lot of dust really had been churned up, and as I led the way deeper inside, I could hear water dripping somewhere. It made me wonder if the roof had been damaged, although I guess it was more likely that whatever had broken up the stairwell and dumped us into the caves had cracked a window. 

The kitchen turned out to be . . . populated, although not quite with the mix of people I'd expected. And they weren't trying very hard to be quiet, either. 

"I _told_ you, we need to go _rescue_ them!" Lina Inverse sounded shriller than usual, maybe even on the edge of hysterical. 

"And just how do you expect to do that?" Filia was in fine form too. "In case you hadn't noticed, Miss Inverse, there's an _army_ out there! And we've got two guns and a fake superweapon!" 

"Now, now, ladies. Surely we can come up with something." That was a familiar voice too, although not one I'd expected to hear here. 

"Xellos, what the fuck are you doing here?!" Gaav snapped as he stepped through the doorway . . . still dressed in boots, makeshift shorts, and nothing else, since I had our still-wet clothes slung across my back as a makeshift pack. Filia blushed and turned her head, Lina inspected my fiance carefully (which earned her a glare from me, not that she was paying any attention), Milgazia raised his eyebrows, and Xellos just stared at us all with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, both his eyes squinted shut . . . and a red mark on the left side of his face that looked like it was about the size of Filia's hand. Well, he'd probably deserved it. 

"I came with grandfather and Uncle Phibrizzo," Xellos said, still smiling. "They're really angry at you, you know, Uncle Gaav." 

Wait a minute, I'd thought that figure standing in the shadows, over behind Pokota, was Gravos, but as he shifted, green, slit-pupilled eyes caught the light. Duclis? What was he doing here? And where were Gravos and . . . My eyes scanned the room. Gourry. Gourry was missing too. Well, that explained why Lina was so on edge. Zelgadis didn't look happy either, and poor Jillas was staring at the floor and pulling at his hair. 

"Who's that?" Lina asked suddenly, narrowing her eyes at Vrumugun, who had followed us in. 

"One of my men. He isn't important." Gaav's words would have made anyone else frown, but Vrumugun didn't seem to care. I decided that I didn't like the engineer very much. He was creepy. "If Dad and Phibby are here, then what are they doing now?" He glanced around as though he expected the two of them to pop out of the shadows. 

"Talking to the army and the Supreme Elder," Duclis said. "I went to some trouble to sneak this one—" He gestured at Xellos. "—out. If nothing else, I figured he could explain what was going on on that side better than I could." 

Gaav snorted. "I'm surprised he agreed to go along with you." 

"That's what Mom told me to do," Xellos said, his smile fading. "Find you, that is, Uncle Gaav, and help you whatever way I could." His eyes opened, and just that was enough to make his face become frightening. "I know I haven't made a good impression on you. I'm just as crazy as everyone else in our family. It leaks out even when I try to hide it. But that doesn't mean I don't love my Mom and want her to succeed. I'm on your side. For now." 

My fiance still didn't look happy, but he said, "Fine. The short version of what happened to us was, we found a secret passage and had the dumbshit idea of going exploring. Then someone let off enough explosives to mess up the tunnel we were in, and we fell into some underground caves. Turned out the Ancient Clan's superweapon is down there, although it's pretty pathetic by modern standards, and corroded halfway to shit on top of that. Anyway, the only way out of the caves was to go for a swim in a river, which took us to the water treatment plant. I get the feeling that things weren't nearly as peaceful up here." 

"That's _one_ way of putting it," Pokota groused. 

Milgazia cleared his throat. "The ordnance that brought down your tunnel was set off by the army in an attempt to make another entrance to this building on the south side. The stone turned out to be more durable than they were expecting, although they succeeded in doing enough damage to wound two men from their own side with rock splinters. When it didn't work, they attempted to storm the building from the front. Mr. Maunttop and Mr. Gabriev were standing guard at the door and were captured, although I understand they wounded several in the firefight. When the attackers came deeper inside, however, we were able to use the building's features—and Mr. Jilles' explosives—to hold them off." 

Gaav raised an eyebrow. "Seems to me that there're some details of that that you can't have seen for yourself." 

"I saw most of it from the outside," Duclis said from the shadows of his hood. "However, I was unable to find any opening to free your friends. They're locked up in a van designed for the purpose. It's parked in a location that guarantees an irregular stream of passers-by in addition to the actual guards." 

"Near the toilets," Vrumugun put in. His flat voice somehow managed to make this sound like a sage pronouncement. Pokota snickered. 

"Which leads to the next question: what are _you_ doing here?" The look Gaav was giving the tiger-man was the same one he gave incompetent guards, irritated and disgusted. 

"Other than escorting your nephew? I come bearing gifts." Duclis theatrically pulled a bag out of his pocket. It made metallic jingling noises as he tossed it on the nearest counter. "Keys to every single mech the army has. There are no duplicates, and most of the weaponry above a certain size is meant to be mounted on the mechs. I also stopped by the kitchen and doctored tonight's stew. It won't be enough to put all the guards out cold, but they should be tired and sluggish." 

In the background, Jillas sagged. I suppose he'd just figured out we weren't going to be using the gizmo he and Pokota had spent the past several hours putting together after all. 

"So you've handed us the keys to the encampment." Gaav was outright scowling again. "You know that I'm not going to be satisfied with just prying our strays loose." 

"I'm counting on it." Duclis tilted his head up so that he was looking my lover in the eye, and his hood slid back slightly, letting us see the unhuman shape of his face. "Back when the Durum epidemic first started, people were collecting aid for us. A bunch of it went missing. At the time, we weren't able to investigate, but when I started poking around later on, I found a pretty clear money trail from the Paladins of Gold to Anahar via the Ruby-Eye Syndicate. The early days of the epidemic, before Rezo's 'cure', were pretty brutal," the tiger-man added. "Not enough people on their feet, the economy completely at a standstill, the royal treasury exhausted, and when the food started to run low, we had to . . . make decisions. The money La Gioconda stole might have saved hundreds, even thousands, of lives if we'd been able to turn it into soup and orange juice and instant oatmeal." 

"Why didn't I ever hear about this?" Pokota sounded . . . confused. Betrayed. 

Duclis sighed. "Your father ordered us not to tell you, Your Highness. He didn't want you to bear the guilt for something you couldn't do anything about." 

"But if I don't know about it, I can't do anything to fix it!" 

"You were out of your mind with fever. I wasn't much better. Nor was your father, for that matter. The borders were quarantined. What could we have done, Your Highness? What could any of us have done?" The shape of Duclis' hood changed, suggesting that his ears had drooped. "For years, now, I've been working toward making this right, toward taking down those who destroyed Taforashia. And so far, the best chance I have has come down to a mess of Syndicate renegades, rebellious Paladins, and civilians. I'm starting to think that this world is insane." 

"Taforashia isn't dead yet. I'm here, and you're here. We're both part of Taforashia, and we're still fighting. While we exist, Taforashia is alive." Pokota's words weren't loud, but they were . . . forceful, I guess. They made an impression. 

My hand drifted up to my chest, where my mother's medallion hung. I was still here, and still fighting, too. Although I wasn't sure that counted when the people on whose behalf you were fighting had been staunch pacifists. 

"Enough chit-chat," Gaav said. "We need to make a plan." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

The problem is that, other than Duclis and Pokota, none of us knows Thing One about how to pilot the fucking mechs. If we could use those to their full potential, we could probably trash the place. As it is, we're going to have to try for some precision if we want to get all of our targets. 

Still, the anticipation's so strong I can almost taste it. No more hiding and fucking around and falling down holes. We're finally going to end this thing. 

I'll have to remember to thank Zelas. She has to have worked her ass off to convince Dad and Phibby to come here, where they'd be in range of what we intend to do. She's even sent Xellos into harm's way, and from what I could tell she actually does have some maternal feelings, even if her son's a creepy little fucker. I guess all of Dad's breeding, design, and training wasn't able to screw her up completely either. 

Dad, Dynast, Phibby, Rezo, the Supreme Elder of the Paladins of Gold, and La Gioconda, President-Elect of Anahar. Plus as many Paladins and Anaharran military as required to get at the primaries. This is going to be a bloodbath, and we're going in with limited personnel. 

Duclis and Pokota will head for the mechs, that's a given. Lina, Zelgadis, and Xellos will work on a separate distraction, Jillas and Vrumugun and Milgazia will go try to spring our idiot duo, and Filia can hold down the fort at our forward base 'cause I can't trust her to do anything else. Meanwhile, Val and I will be slitting throats. 

There isn't much else we can do. Even if we had enough guns to go around, we've got two people who've never held one (as far as I know, anyway) and three more with only basic familiarization. And of those three, I wouldn't trust Filia with a weapon and Jillas can't aim for shit. Pokota's a question mark, since we only have Duclis' word that he's been trained. So we'll split things up so that each group except Filia's has at least one gun and someone who knows how to shoot it, and hope for the best. 

I hate hoping for the best. It's like you're tweaking Ruby-Eye's fucking nose and just asking him to rain shit down on you. But it's what we have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Vrumugun seems to be hovering on the edge of OOC here, it's because I originally had an OC in his role, and then swapped Vrumugun in later on when I realized what I wanted to do with the character.
> 
> And I have no idea why Gioconda insisted on her nickname matching one of the ones for the Mona Lisa. Except that she strikes me as the type of person who would insist on being called _the_ Gioconda ("la" being the feminine definite article in several of the Romance languages ).


	35. Chapter 35

I held my gun, pointing down, in both hands as I did my best to ghost between the tents without stepping in any puddles and making loud splashing noises. Nearby, Gaav was doing the same. Between the rain and the stolen Anaharran military rain gear we were wearing (courtesy of Duclis), we might have been okay even if someone had spotted us, but it was best not to take any chances. At least the floodlights they'd set up provided lots of nice dark shadows to hide in as well as enough illumination to see anyone coming. 

There weren't a lot of people moving in the encampment. Duclis hadn't been able to guarantee that his sleeping drug had gotten to everyone, but it looked like he'd managed to hit the majority. The guards we'd snuck past in order to get this far had certainly been asleep on their feet. 

We came to a wider avenue between the tents, and I rechecked my mental map of the encampment. We were approaching from the south side, away from the jail and the motor pool. Once the other groups reached their objectives and started raising hell, we'd be able to move more freely . . . although the idea was that by that time, we'd have killed our targets and be on our way back out of the camp. This was . . . the last major avenue we needed to cross before reaching the command tents. 

I swallowed. This was it. Within the next ten minutes, I was actually going to kill someone. Somehow, despite everything that had happened, I'd avoided doing that until now. 

Gaav would have done it for me in a heartbeat, I was sure. All I'd have to do was ask. It wouldn't even bother him very much. But it wouldn't have felt right. La Gioconda and the Supreme Elder (although I wasn't going to kill him—that would be too kind) were my enemies, not his. It wouldn't be revenge if I got him to take it for me. And . . . I wanted it. Wanted to know that _I'd_ been the one to rid the world of them. Wanted it so bad I could taste it. 

There was something warped inside of me. There had to be. Would my parents even have recognized me if they'd been alive? My brother and sister, my grandparents . . . No, I wasn't going to think about that. I'd known from the beginning that I was doing this for me, not them. There would be time enough to do something for them when I'd tamed the rage inside me. 

Gaav had crossed the avenue already and was gesturing for me to do the same. I gave a quick glance along it in either direction—not because I didn't trust him, but because I had a different angle and might spot something that he couldn't—before jogging across. 

This was the dicey part. We had no idea which tent was which, and anyone we ran into would have to be dealt with quickly and quietly, before they could raise an alarm. Gaav reholstered his gun and drew a knife. Then he looked at me and pointed at one of the tents—the one on the corner, nice and systematic—and nodded to me. I nodded back and raised my gun. My job now was to cover him while he looked for our targets. And hope I didn't need to shoot, because as he'd told me the first time we'd gone to the firing range together, a gun was not a quiet weapon. 

The first four tents contained snoring soldiers with a fair amount of gold braid on their uniform jackets. One man had fallen straight down on his bed fully clothed, right down to the boots, and then apparently just zoned out. The others had done a better job with their kit, but they were all still in dreamland, and having the tent flaps parted for a moment didn't wake them. 

We had to slip around the corner to a different thoroughfare to get to the front of the next tent. It was bigger than the other four, and it had a guard by the flap. He was still just barely awake. He'd nod off, then jerk himself upright again. 

Gaav shook his head and gestured me back. We crept into the narrow space between that tent and the two behind it instead, and he slit the fabric with his knife. He stuck his head inside, then beckoned me over. 

I followed him into the tent. It turned out to be subdivided inside, with another flap hanging down to divide the "bedroom" from the rest, but I barely noticed, because La Gioconda was lying on the cot in front of me, fast asleep even though there was a lantern still on. She was snoring and clutching a semiautomatic rifle to her chest like a plush toy. 

Slowly, I holstered my gun. Slowly, Gaav handed me his knife. Slowly, I took it, gripping it as he had taught me. 

I looked down at the president of Anahar and tried to feel . . . the sort of emotions my parents would have said I should feel at a moment like that. Regret, at least, if not sorrow or outright revulsion. Instead, what flooded through me was rage and disgust—not at what I was about to do, but at the peaceful expression on her face. It was pretty obvious that she had no idea what a "conscience" even was, or she wouldn't be so comfortable here, among the ruins of what she'd destroyed to further her own ambitions. 

I felt my face twist into a hard expression as I shot out my free hand, covering her mouth so that she couldn't alert anyone even if she woke up . . . and she did wake, obviously groggy, but not in any kind of a good mood. She bit my palm, and I snarled silently at the pain as I brought the knife down. 

Carotid artery, jugular vein. I stabbed, pulled the knife across, and twisted it, and the bedding turned red. La Gioconda struggled weakly, but she was drugged up and bleeding out and there wasn't much she could do. And I didn't care. My anger was so hot that it almost felt cold, and her death alone wasn't going to be enough to sate it. Not when the Supreme Elder was still alive. 

I held my bitten hand where it was until she stopped moving. There was blood on her teeth. Hopefully whoever found here would think it was her own. 

When I did lift my hand away, Gaav grabbed my wrist, turned it over so that he could see my palm, mouthed _fuck_ , and opened up his first-aid kit. He swabbed the bite out with an antiseptic wipe and bandaged it, his motions quick and practiced. He also dumped one of the little bottles from the kit in La Gioconda's mouth, and pocketed the used wipe. 

He leaned down close to my ear then to whisper, "They shouldn't be able to get a useful sample for DNA now. Clean the knife off, and let's get moving before anyone comes to check on her." 

I nodded, and wiped the knife clean on part of the blanket that wasn't soaked with red, then handed it back to him and pulled out my gun. 

It wasn't over yet. 

We exited the tent through the back again, and crossed another avenue to the next block, where we made a right turn and followed its edge until we reached another cross-path. Our next targets were somewhere on the far side of that . . . but unfortunately, there was someone in the way. 

Rashatt was pacing back and forth in front of one of the tents with a scowl on his face. He had a gun in his right hand and a peanut butter protein bar in his left. Sometimes he'd take a bite of it—the bar, not the gun, although it might have been better for us if he'd decided the bar was so bad he was going to shove his gun in his mouth, blow his brains out, and save us the trouble. 

I looked at my lover, who gestured firmly for me to stay in place. He watched Rashatt for several moments, probably timing him as he paced and turned. Then, just as Rashaat turned away from us, Gaav ghosted across the avenue, somehow managing to navigate the mud, puddles, and crumbled asphalt without making any sounds that stood out above the rain. 

Rashatt seemed to be mumbling something to himself, but he wasn't doing it very loudly, and I could only pick up a syllable here and there through the rain. He certainly wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings, even if he was supposed to be on guard duty. But he did rally enough at the last minute to keep Gaav from grabbing him and getting a hand over his mouth. My lover's knife left a long, shallow cut on Rashatt's jaw as the latter spun away from him and tried to get his gun up. 

Gaav kicked the weapon from his hand. Rashatt looked from him to the gun, and evidently decided it had flown far enough that he wouldn't survive to pick it up. He pulled a knife out instead, but didn't move forward to engage, and for long moments, the two big men just stared at each other through the falling water. 

"I guess you skipped supper," Gaav said at last. 

"The big guy put fucking _Raltaak_ in charge," Rashatt responded sourly. "And whisker-face said that since I'd chosen such shitty provisions, I get to live on them until we pull out." 

Gaav snorted. "And now you're doing just as piss-poor a job of guard duty as you do of everything else." 

"You think I _want_ anyone else to come running? Oh, no. Not before I mess you up—you and your boy-toy. I'm sure he's here somewhere." 

I knew a cue when I heard one, so I took a deep breath, emerged from concealment, and strode across the avenue to join Gaav. 

"Yo," I said, raising my gun and pointing it firmly at Rashatt, who gave me a contemptuous look. 

"Put the bang-bang away, little boy. You don't want more people here any more than I do." 

I kept the gun where it was. "What the hell is your problem, anyway? I mean, I can understand you hating me, but what's between you and Gaav?" I could tell that this was more than just Rashatt being dutiful about taking down an enemy. He was enjoying it too much. 

"He got my job." 

That was so ridiculous that I just kind of blinked. 

Gaav snorted. "Rashatt fancied himself as Head of Security. Then Dad dumped me into the position as an eighteen-year-old upstart brat straight out of military school, and told Raltaak to keep an eye on me and teach me what he could. Bonehead here's resented me ever since. That's going to end tonight, one way or the other. Stay back unless it looks like I'm in real trouble, Val. This shouldn't take long." 

My fiance took a step forward, and he and Rashatt began to circle around an invisible center point. I lowered the gun for the time being, to reduce the temptation to squeeze off a badly-aimed shot and screw everything up. I had to trust Gaav to be able to take care of this, even though trusting wasn't easy for me, after all the crap I'd been through. Easier when it came to him, though. Just a little. 

Rashatt was the one who finally got impatient with the circling and bounced forward, knife slashing down. Gaav blocked it with his own, and the two weapons rang, then slid against each other for a moment before Rashatt tried to step back. Gaav pushed forward, not letting the other man disengage. He was reaching for Rashatt's elbow with his free hand, but the smaller man picked up on it, and turned to the side in another try at disengaging. This time, Gaav let him go . . . almost. At the last moment, when Rashatt would have been out of range of anyone else, he lashed out with a kick. It hit Rashatt's shin, and while it didn't seem to do any immediate damage, it made Rashatt look at Gaav more warily. 

My lover smirked and flipped the knife in his hand, showily reversing his grip while leaving his left side wide open. I bit down on my lower lip to keep from saying anything I might regret. It had to be a feint. If he'd done it while he and I were practicing together, it certainly would have been. _Making a deliberate show of overconfidence can be useful to draw in an enemy who thinks he's smarter than he really is,_ he'd told me . . . and it looked like Rashatt was taking the bait, charging right in again. 

Gaav, still smirking, sidestepped. Rashatt followed him, and then . . . well, it all happened so quickly that it wasn't until afterwards that I figured out that the puddle he'd just stepped into hid a smallish-but-very-deep pothole in the disintegrating asphalt. All I knew at the time was that his foot disappeared almost up to the knee, but his momentum carried him forward until something snapped. 

"You're supposed to keep an eye on the terrain, you fucking idiot," Gaav said as Rashatt tried to haul himself out again. "I don't know how you ever got promoted as far as you did." He kicked the smaller man in the jaw. Rashatt's head snapped back, his eyes rolled up, and he fell into a boneless heap. 

"Are you going to make sure of him?" I asked after a moment. 

"Cut his throat, you mean? Not worth the effort for a stupid-ass like him. I don't actually care whether he lives or dies, and by the time he can wake up and pull himself together enough to call for help, we'll be long gone. Or he might die of hypothermia. Either way, I don't care, and you shouldn't either. Even _talking_ about it this much is a waste of energy." 

So leaving Rashatt alive . . . was an act of contempt. Well, I could live with that. 

Gaav was already moving toward the tent Rashatt had been guarding. I was right behind him as he ducked through the flap. 

Inside, it was another one of those big, fancy subdivided tents like La Gioconda's. Just enough light filtered through the canvas for me to see that the area we'd entered was a living room/dining room/office, with several folding chairs and card tables, one with papers stacked on it. At any rate, there was no one sleeping there, although we could hear snoring from somewhere nearby. 

Gaav picked one of the hanging dividers and pushed it out of the way with his knife. This wasn't the one the snoring was coming from. Instead, I could hear more delicate sounds of breathing. Like a child's. And the small, shadowy figure lying on the cot seemed to fit with that. 

Then I heard a mumbled, "'Ject it . . . compound eighty-three . . . see if . . . starts blistering up like . . ." and I realized belatedly that we'd just found Phibrizzo. 

I watched Gaav as he took one step in, grabbed a pillow, shoved it over Phibrizzo's face, and slit his throat. Neat, efficient, silent. I don't think the Ruby-Eye Syndicate's top torturer even woke up. 

We followed the snoring next, through another hanging partition, and found Lei Magnus himself, sprawled on his back with both arms dangling off the sides of his cot. My eyes must have adjusted to the dimness inside the tent by then, because I had no problem identifying him. 

This time, Gaav sat down on the edge of the cot, put his hand over his father's mouth, and shook him awake—even though it took a while and a fair amount of effort. I gritted my teeth and didn't try to stop him. We were wasting time, I could feel it trickling from between our fingers . . . but I could understand if he had something that he wanted to say to his father. 

Whatever it was, he considered it private, because when Lei Magnus' eyes flickered open, Gaav leaned down and murmured something in his ear. I couldn't pick up more than a few disjointed syllables in the minute or two before Gaav slit his father's throat. 

My fiance stayed there for a while, watching his father as he died. The expression on Gaav's face when he finally rose to his feet again was . . . complicated. I think mine was too. But I clasped his arm silently as he moved past me, and he gave me a hint of a smile in return, just an upward twist of the corner of his mouth. 

"Is someone there?" 

We both jerked to a stop in the middle of the tent's "living room" just in time to hear a staff striking the ground, and the clash of rings at the top of it. 

Apparently Rezo the Red Priest didn't like stew. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

"Do you know who I am? Good. Because I wouldn't want you to die without knowing who you just lost to." 

That's what I said to him. The only thing I said to him. I'm not sure how much of it penetrated. The look in his eyes was more puzzled than anything else, I guess. Maybe because he thought it was some lame-ass dream, but I'm going to keep believing it was because he couldn't believe it was _me_ leaning over him with a knife. I expect that some day, I'll end up down there in hell with him and be able to ask. 

Winning or losing was the only thing the asshole ever cared about—not his kids, not his wife, not even really his money. Winning. Power. Counting coup and keeping score. It was his whole life. 

He deserved to have it ended by someone he'd written off. 

Even so, I'd expected to feel at least a little bad about it. You're supposed to, when you kill your father. But I can't even dredge up some sense of wistful might-have-been shit. I mean, there were a couple of instructors at the military school he packed me off to that were more fatherly to me than he ever was. 

What I mostly feel is relieved. There's no one out there anymore who has the right to look down on me, no one I'm answerable to for any reason except that I want to be. No one I have to hide from. No need to pretend to be anyone but who I am. 

Free. Finally. I've fucking well waited long enough.


	36. Chapter 36

"Gaav," Rezo said. "I can tell it's you by the echoes. So the other person must be . . . young Val?" 

Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap. He'd ID'd us, and in a few moments more he was probably going to notice the smell of blood. Which meant we had to kill him before he raised the alarm. But we couldn't shoot him, because that would be just as bad in terms of drawing attention. 

I lunged forward, trying to get my hands around his neck before he could shout, and felt a sudden, unexpected pain in my arm as his staff swung down. He didn't have the strength to break the bone or anything, but I was going to have an impressive bruise. Well, fuck that. I grabbed for the staff, intending to wrestle it out of his hands, and Rezo . . . turned and ran. Pretty successfully, too, for someone dressed in robes who couldn't see where he was going. 

I nearly got him anyway. My extended fingers brushed his sleeve just as something hit me in the back. 

Since my balance wasn't great, I landed on my stomach and immediately rolled to try to dislodge it . . . them . . . _her_. Eris. Struggling to hold me back as much as to do me damage. 

"Val!" Gaav's voice was a low rumble like distant thunder. 

"I'm fine!" I said, twisting and managing to dislodge Eris. "Go after him!" 

"Fuck! Okay. Don't do anything stupid." Rapid footfalls indicated he was leaving, but I tried to keep my focus on Eris. 

She was pissed off as hell, clawing for my eyes with her fingernails as we wrestled. I was bigger and heavier as well as stronger, though, so it wasn't difficult to get her pinned. I just wished I'd managed to do it before she'd left a stinging red stripe down my jaw. 

I could have grabbed her by the hair and pounded her head against the ground until she stopped moving, except that I wasn't that much of an asshole. Not . . . quite. 

"Rezo's dead either way," I told her in a low voice. "We can't afford to let him go. Question is, are you going to follow him to hell?" 

"If that's the only place I can be with him," Eris replied. And jammed her elbow into my crotch. 

It was the one thing that the Syndicate hadn't been able to come up with a drug to soften the effects of. _I should have been more careful._ That thought bounced around and around inside my brain as I lay curled around myself in agony. Should have known, should have expected it . . . but it's something that men don't usually try against other men, and I'd never sparred all that much with the female Syndicate security types. _Should have worn a damned athletic cup,_ I added with a rictus of a grin. Live and learn. Gaav made me wear one at the gym, but I'd always considered it protection against _accidental_ contact. 

When I finally managed to uncurl myself, Eris was gone. I did my best to pull myself together before slipping out of the tent. I'd still prefer not to draw attention and get caught in a place full of dead bodies . . . and why hadn't Rezo raised the alarm? The only noise outside was the rain. 

_I have a bad feeling about this._

Damn it, which direction had they gone in? In the dark and the rain, I couldn't tell. Although that mark in the mud over there, already half-washed-away, _might_ have come from Rezo's staff. But if that was the case, why was he moving away from the center of the camp? There was nothing over there except the motor pool, and surely a blind man couldn't drive. Maybe Eris could. 

_Options,_ I told myself. Something else Gaav had drilled into me. I could proceed with our original plan, and go after the Supreme Elder and "little brother" Dynast. I could look for Gaav and/or Rezo and/or Eris. Or I could try to join up with one of the other groups, since I at least had some idea where they were. I wished we'd brought radio gear along on this, but there had been no way to keep other Syndicate security from eavesdropping on ours, or other Paladins from tuning in on Milgazia's. 

It was obvious what the smartest thing to do was—drill our remaining two targets and then join up with the group that was trying to break the prisoners out—but the thought of leaving Gaav made me feel vaguely ill. So I wouldn't. As simple as that. I'd look for him, and for Rezo. 

Stepping lightly from one slightly raised piece of asphalt to the other, I headed for the motor pool, where the mech built from Pokota's stolen designs crouched. Apparently if there was no one in them, they were more stable if they were squatting with both hands on the ground. There didn't seem to be anyone moving in the area, although Pokota and Duclis, at least, should have been around there somewhere. Probably they were inside a couple of the cockpits, waiting for the time we'd agreed on to come around so that they could start making a mess of everything. 

_Splash!_

Someone not too far away to my left had stepped in a puddle, and it wasn't me. _Let's have a look._

"Lord Rezo, wait!" 

"There is no time." And a thump-jangle from that stupid staff of his. I sped up, rounding a squatting mech, and discovered . . . a tent? No, more like a tarp, covering something massive and shadowy that squatted in the middle of the motor pool—another mech? But why cover it up? 

Suddenly, a series of blue lights came on, revealing that yes, it was another mech, with an odd smooth silver exterior finish that made it impossible to spot any seams from where I was standing. It looked almost organic. Weird. Phibrizzo probably would have loved it. 

Rezo was pulling himself up on its knee, and some kind of door was opening within convenient reach of him. _Oh, shit!_ I mean, I doubted he could pilot the thing worth a damn, but he'd sure as hell draw attention and make us lose our chance to kill him. And Eris was on the ground below, and Ceiphied only knew what _she_ was going to do. 

I raised my gun and pointed it at Rezo. "Stop right there!" I called—louder than I wanted to be, but quieter than a gunshot. Maybe we still had a chance of hitting our objectives . . . 

Instead of stopping, Rezo moved quickly, swinging himself up into the mech's cockpit. Gritting my teeth, I pulled the trigger. 

I hadn't aimed badly. The bullet tore into Rezo's upper left arm, dying his red robes with even more red, but it didn't stop him. He bared his teeth, looking more like a wild animal than a priest, and finished getting into the mech. My second shot just grazed his ankle. I think. It was difficult to tell with all those folds of robe in the way. 

"Lord Rezo—" Eris was trying to climb the mech too, reaching out toward the cockpit, but a staff poked out and stabbed her in the chest, and she fell backward, landing hard on the ground as the cockpit slammed shut. 

Half a beat later, before I could do much of anything except shift my aim to point my gun at Eris, the mech came to life, humming softly. Over the rain, I could hear sounds of wild laughter, muffled and slightly metallic. And a voice. 

"So this is . . . what the world looks like . . . ahahahahaha!" 

"Lord . . . Rezo . . ." Eris reached upward toward the mech with one hand. If we'd been making a movie, it might have looked like a touching, dramatic moment, but right now it struck me as stupid. 

And then the mech stepped forward and squished her, leaving me wondering why the hell she hadn't gotten out of the way. And Rezo, inside the thing, was still laughing. 

"Fuck," growled a familiar voice from behind me, and I was pretty damned relieved to see one of the shadows moving through the rain become Gaav. Flinging myself into his arms like some kind of silly romance heroine might have been nice, but I knew this wasn't a good time even if the idea hadn't made me feel like an idiot. "What the fuck is that thing?" my fiance added, looking down. "It isn't like the other mechs." 

"I don't know." I hadn't realized Pokota was there until he spoke. "It isn't one of my designs." 

Gaav scowled. "Probably something from Rezo's research, then. Which is all we need. Is that Rezo inside? What's he cackling about?" 

"I don't know," I said. "Except that he said, 'So this is what the world looks like!' right about when he started laughing his ass off. I don't know how a giant robot could make it possible for him to see, though." 

Gaav shook his head. "Given all the bio shit he had his thumbs in, it probably isn't all mechanical. Hell, he might even have had Phibby working on it. We'll assume he can see what he's doing. Pokota, go get Duclis. He's been working with these people—he might know what this thing is." 

The extremely short Taforashian prince nodded. "I'll be back in a few minutes." 

He vanished into the rain, leaving Gaav and I alone . . . with Eris' splattered corpse and a giant robot containing Rezo, but you can't have everything. Funny how the Red Priest seemed to have forgotten I was there, but maybe it was the novelty of being not-blind that was distracting him. Currently he was turning the mech slowly in a circle, as though to savour the vista of a dilapidated parking lot pitched with tents and studded with mech. In the dark, in the middle of a rainy-season downpour. Well, for all I knew the mech might have infrared cameras or something. 

Gaav beckoned me over to his position, which would put a deactivated mech between us and Rezo. Seemed like a good idea to me. I went over to my fiance and slid my arm around his waist, leaning into him. He put his arm around my shoulders. 

Our conversation, however, was anything but romantic. 

"We're going to have to find a rocket launcher or something. Even that tin can of Pokota's was pretty fucking difficult to take down with hand weapons, and it wasn't really built to fight. This thing is." 

"There have to be some around. Milgazia got the one he used in the scramble after the negotiations fell through from somewhere." 

Gaav grunted. "Either the Paladins' supplies or the army's. Neither of which we're going to have time to search. Maybe we should have brought some, but I didn't want to fight a fucking _war_ here. Under those circumstances, we could never win." 

"It's funny," I said, then stopped. 

"Hmm?" 

"Can you see any weapons on that thing? Because I can't." Rezo's mech didn't have anything that looked like guns or rockets or even just a sword or a club or something. 

Gaav squinted. "It would be easier to tell if we had better light . . . but now that you mention it, no. Which means it probably has something worse than standard weapons." 

"Like?" 

"Fucked if I know, but they wouldn't have set it up that way just because they thought it looked stylish. Let's fade back a bit. Just in c—" My lover stopped in mid-sentence, looking at the mech with a grim expression. 

When I followed his line of sight, the first thing I noticed was Eris' dead body. The second thing was some kind of nasty greyish-silvery crap bubbling out of the mecha's foot to wash over the corpse and . . . drag it . . . towards the machine? What the hell was going on here? Had Rezo not figured out she was dead, or had he decided he wanted the body as a souvenir, or . . . what? 

When the body reached the machine, more silvery crap bubbled out to cover it entirely. 

When it receded, the corpse was gone. 

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Gaav said. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I've always known that calling Rezo a loon is an insult to loons everywhere, but I'd never in my life thought that he was that crazy. A mech that ate people, and even before I got a look at the specs, I was pretty sure it wasn't limited to dead ones. Fuck, I was pretty sure from the moment I saw it absorbing that body that we weren't going to see Rezo again, that he'd been eaten too. 

What was giving me the chills just then, though, was that something else was missing after it ate Eris' body. The pavement around here was all in shitty shape, broken up with grass growing through it. 

Except I couldn't see any grass right around the feet of the mech. And if it was just as happy with veggies as with meat, I knew we had to get rid of it fast. Because there were a lot of fucking veggies in the area, and the shit it ate had to go somewhere—I didn't think it was just boiling off. That meant that at best, it had endless fuel, and at worst it might get bigger. And _that_ meant that if we left it alone for a day or two, it might spread out over the entire town. At that point, there wouldn't be much anyone could do except nuke it. Assuming it didn't eat nukes, too. And the scenario where it just had endless fuel and found its way down off the plateau into an inhabited area was almost as bad. 

I've seen a lot of scary shit, starting just moments after I was born, but I don't think I've ever been as scared as I was standing in that parking lot, watching that mech take slow, weird, gliding steps forward. Suddenly this had gone from being about revenge and self-protection to being about maybe saving the entire fucking _world_ , and I didn't know how to handle it. 

It was Val's presence that kept me grounded. I'd never been under any delusion that I was any kind of fucking hero—a villain, if anything—but I knew that night that, for his sake, I was going to have to try to be one. Just this once.


	37. Chapter 37

The five minutes it took for Duclis to show up were . . . not quite the longest five minutes of my life (those had taken place while crawling from a mass grave to a thornbush), but pretty close. There was nothing to do except cuddle up against my lover, watch Rezo's mech to make sure it didn't suddenly start paying attention to us . . . and pray, maybe, except that I was pretty sure that there was no Ceiphied up there listening. And if there was, whatever he'd do would only make things worse. 

Duclis arrived carrying Pokota and running at fairly high speed. Sometimes only one of his feet would touch the ground between puddles—like all of us, he was still trying to avoid unnecessary noise, which meant not stepping in the water. He nearly fell into one of those puddles while trying to decelerate at the end of his sprint. 

Gaav pointed silently to the mech that was now walking toward some of the tents. Duclis closed his eyes. 

"Oh, hell. It _is_ the Zanaffar prototype. I'd hoped I was wrong." 

"Talk," Gaav said succinctly. 

"I don't really know that much. It's an entirely new design—really, it isn't a mech at all." 

"Then what is it?" 

"Sort of like a coherent blob of microscopic machines." 

"Nanotechnology?" Pokota's eyes were wide. "That's crazy! No one's been able to create nanotech that's stable enough to leave the lab." 

Duclis shrugged. "Don't ask me. I was at the conferences, but you know this isn't really my area of expertise. That blob is supposed to be self-fuelling and self-replicating—Gioconda was all over that part. She had the only detailed plans of . . . whatever you want to call it. It wasn't supposed to be anything like ready for deployment yet, though, not after it tried to eat its last operator. I don't even know why they brought it along." 

"Rezo," Gaav said with a grimace. "Or at least that would be my bet. He had his fingers in one hell of a lot more stuff than anyone ever knew about. Shit, this is . . . I barely even know where to start. Incendiaries, I guess. They probably would have set the final product up to handle those, but if this is a prototype it might not be fully hardened yet. Chemicals, acid or whatever. I doubt you guys brought any anti-tank stuff up here. If we can't find anything else that works, we might have to nuke it. I know Anahar's got the ordnance, if we end up needing it. Hopefully you've got the authority to make them use it." 

The tiger-man nodded. "Hopefully it won't come to that . . . and if it does, well, it's a good thing there isn't anyone living up here anymore. But I'm pretty sure there's a specific chemical we can use on it—it's a failsafe they built in because they're still developing the thing. Unfortunately, I can't remember what it is and I don't know if we have any here." 

"Fuck. Is there a manual or something?" 

Duclis . . . well, I guess it was supposed to be a scowl. It was hard to tell when I was looking at a guy with a tiger face in less-than-perfect lighting, though. "More like a set of notes they're going to turn into one someday, and I left my copy behind in the capital, since I wasn't expecting to need it." 

"So there's two or three people who might have one here," I said. "Gioconda. And Rezo, if he didn't mind having someone read to him. Maybe the Supreme Elder, depending on how deeply he was involved." 

"I guess we get to search some tents, then," my fiance said. "At least we already know where—" 

A gunshot rang out, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. A flicker suggested the bullet had been aimed at the silver not-a-mech, which began turning slowly toward the source of the shot. 

"Not one of ours," Duclis said. 

"Semi-auto rifle," Gaav agreed. "I'd bet on the Paladins—that vegetarian shit they have going on means that a lot of them probably missed being dosed. Question is, what's Rezo going to do about it?" 

The mech took a step forward, and bent down. When it straightened again, it had a Paladin in its hand. He was struggling and shouting stupid stuff like, "Let me go!" 

It didn't save him. A couple of seconds later, he'd already been covered by the silver stuff. The mech's hand became a sort of ball for a moment, then flattened out again. 

"Duclis," Gaav said. His eyebrows were knit together in a frown that I knew was bad news. "Find those incendiaries for me, and then you and Val go look for the manual. You might get caught with one of the corpses, so have a story ready—and try not to let anyone get a good look at you, Val." 

"What about me?" Pokota asked. 

"You get into the nearest mech. Don't start it up yet, but in the worst case, we might have to use you to pin that thing down while we attack it. You might get killed," Gaav added. 

The little prince grimaced. "Not at the top of my to-do list for the week, but I'm not selfish enough to back down when we're facing a grey goo scenario." 

"Grey what?" I had no idea what he was talking about. 

Pokota's smile was almost as humourless as Lei Magnus' had always seemed. "You don't read much science fiction, do you? It's one name for the scenario where you've got a batch of nanomachines on the loose with instructions to make more of themselves using anything they can find. If they're not stopped in time, they might turn the entire world into . . ." 

"Grey goo. I get it." More like silver goo in this case, but really, who cared about the colour scheme? "Let's hope they burn." 

Duclis had probably decided where the supply tents would be set up. He led us straight to several crates of GRENADES, INCENDIARY, [incomprehensible serial number]. 

"This is the best I can do," the tiger-man said. "Rocket launchers are in the next tent over, but the rocket ordnance we brought is more for taking down unarmoured helicopters. We don't have any grenade launchers that would fit the incendiaries—they're just for the frag, smoke, and tear gas rounds." 

Gaav grunted and began to pry the top off a crate. "Even if they don't destroy it, they might buy us some time. If it were anyone else running the fucking thing, I'd try the smoke grenades too, but Rezo won't have any problems doing whatever he wants without being able to see. I'm not even sure if these are going to do any good. Fire won't spread in this shit." A wave of his hand took in the rainy night. 

Outside, someone screamed. My lover got the top off the crate and grabbed a half-dozen of what looked kind of like cans of spray paint to me. 

I had a feeling it was time for me to go. "Gaav?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Be careful if you can, okay?" 

_If you can._ Under the circumstances, there was only so much he could do to protect himself, and I understood that, but I wanted him to be alive when this was over. 

"If I can," he agreed. "And . . . don't do anything I wouldn't, okay? Try La Gioconda's tent first." 

I nodded. Leaned up and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. My lips rasped over beard stubble, but I didn't care. 

Duclis and I weren't nearly as careful while moving through the camp as Gaav and I had been. I mean, Duclis was supposed to be there. He'd only been mincing around because there'd been no good way to explain someone Pokota's size. With the hood from my army issue rain gear hiding my face and my stubborn, stand-up hair, I looked like I belonged too. Not to mention that there wasn't anyone moving in that part of the encampment, thanks to the doped stew. 

We turned La Gioconda's tent upside-down without finding anything. Maybe she hadn't brought it. Or maybe she slept with the damned thing under her pillow, because I couldn't bring myself to disturb the corpse, and Duclis didn't go near the bed. It was less about superstitious creepy feelings than it was about avoiding implicating ourselves in her death . . . or at least that was what I told myself. 

"Rezo," I said briefly to Duclis after we gave up, and he nodded. The other option was checking the Supreme Elder's tent, and he was both still alive and the least likely to have a copy of the manual. "Why hasn't anyone found her yet?" I added, gesturing back toward the inside of the tent, ignoring the gunshots and a loud _fwoom!_ coming from outside. 

"What with all the commotion, you mean? I'd guess that anyone who's awake is looking for me." Duclis' muzzle twisted around into a smile. 

"Let's hope that keeps up," I said. 

We entered the tent where the majority of the Magnus family had been staying, and discovered a _lot_ of papers and spiral-bound reports and crap like that. I grimaced, knowing we were going to have to check it all. I lit a lamp, picked a chair and a card table, laid my gun near to hand, and pulled a pile of papers toward me. Duclis silently picked a different table on the far side of the tent. We'd meet in the middle if we didn't find anything before then. 

It was nerve-wracking, forcing myself to keep concentrating on the papers with what I could hear going on outside. Especially the sounds I didn't quite recognize. Gunshots, fine, that could be anyone. But what did an incendiary grenade sound like? Was it _whoosh_ or _fwoom_ or _bang_ or some other noise? Or had he even thrown one yet? Was he— 

I bit my lower lip, hard, and used the pain to center myself. Letting my thoughts run wild was not only stupid, it was dangerous. Gaav knew how to look after himself. I had to believe that, or I was going to go crazy. 

Even if we got clear of the Syndicate, he wasn't going to stop doing risky things. As he'd told me, he'd tried that and he'd ended up feeling only half-alive. I didn't know, at this point, whether he'd take up skydiving or competitive mixed martial arts or climbing the highest mountains in the world, but he'd find something, and I'd probably go do whatever-it-was with him, because I was almost as much of an adrenaline junkie as he was. 

Okay, so maybe I was already crazy. Did it matter, really? If I was happy that way, and not hurting anyone who hadn't signed up for the risk? 

I shuffled quickly through three stacks of papers. I could tell from the columns of numbers that most of them were something financial, and I didn't much care what. They weren't part of the manual for the mech. Anyway, that emptied the table I'd started at, so I picked up my gun and moved to the next one. 

The next table had more financial papers. The only thing of interest that I found was a tablet computer, hidden under one of the stacks. Unfortunately, it was fingerprint-locked. Jillas might be able to get into it, but there was no way I could . . . well, unless I wanted to start playing with the corpses, and I didn't think we were quite that desperate yet. 

Then, at the worst possible moment, someone stumbled into the tent. 

"Dad? Are you here?" Dynast was still dressed for the day, but his tie was loosened and askew. I think it took him a moment to register exactly what he was seeing—Duclis and I going through everyone's papers without Lei Magnus or Rezo or even Phibrizzo in sight—and even when he did, he didn't seem to know what to do about it except stand there and gape at the gun I'd just snatched up to point at him. It took him half a beat to come up with, "If you shoot me, you'll never find whatever it is you're looking for in all this. Dad's filing system is crap." 

"Sit down on that chair." Duclis gestured with his chin. He had a gun too, a big one, probably a .44. 

My trigger finger was itching, but I forced myself to hold off. I mean, maybe he really did know something useful. And I could always take him out after he'd talked. 

Dynast didn't seem to like the idea of getting shot, so he went over and sat. I made a slow circle around him. I could just about see the hairs on the back of his neck standing up when I was out of his sight. 

"It isn't your dad's stuff we're looking for," I said. "Where does Rezo keep his important documents?" 

"You have to promise not to kill me first." 

I was just about ready to snarl in his face. Okay, so I could promise him and still shoot him, but that just felt wrong. I still had way too much of a conscience, or something. 

"How about this," I said. "I'll promise not to kill you here and now, _if_ we find what we're looking for. Until we both leave this tent, or until dawn, whichever comes first. If we meet up again after that, we're right back to where we were." 

Dynast scowled, but he also said, "Okay, I'll take that." 

I gave him an expectant look. 

"Rezo kept anything he thought was important in a red leather document case. It's probably beside his bed. It won't do you any good, though." 

I didn't bother asking why. It would just give him another chance to sneer. Instead, I ducked back into Rezo's section of the tent. As Dynast had suggested, the red document case (or at least I thought that had to be a document case—I'd never seen one before) was in plain sight beside his bed. I grabbed it and brought it back to the main room, opened it and set the pile of papers on the table in front of Duclis, then took over keeping an eye on Dynast so that the person who would recognize what we were looking for could go through them. 

"Got it," the tiger-man said after a moment. Then, a moment later, "Oh, hell." 

I shot a quick glance at him. His ears were drooping. 

"What?" I asked. 

"Everything except the cover is in braille." 

I froze. Of course it was. It had belonged to a blind man, after all. 

_Now what the hell do we do?_

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I never actually played hide-and-go-seek or tag as a kid—Zelas and Phibby and I weren't allowed that much freedom—but I'd always liked the idea of games like that. They were something I might have been good at, if I'd ever had the chance. 

Playing them with that fucking mech wasn't much fun, though. Not much fun at all. I knew it wasn't going to be from the moment I ducked out from behind a supply tent to throw the first grenade. The incendiary shit they fill them with wasn't about to be put out by mere water falling from the sky, and the mech didn't eat it. It even blackened a part of its surface for a while. Those were the good parts. 

The bad part, of course, was that I'd drawn its attention, and it was going to kill me if it caught me. Which meant that I had to keep moving. And I was fucking exhausted. If you didn't count lying in the middle of a cave knocked out cold (and I don't—even my shitty field medical training covered the fact that "asleep" and "unconscious" aren't really the same), I'd had two or three hours of sleep in the last forty-eight. Adrenaline would carry me for a while, but sooner or later, I was going to crash. 

Three hours until the sun might start coming up, if we'd even be able to tell with so many clouds in the way. I'd been a fucking idiot for not really listening to Val when he'd talked about conditions around here in the winter. I'd expected wet and muddy, but I hadn't been ready for rain every moment of every fucking day. It was the first time since I'd left the jungle that I'd felt like I might start to grow mold. Anyway, I knew light would be to our advantage, if we made it that far. 

So instead of letting Rezo and the mech trample and absorb a bunch of stupid brat Paladins, I threw another grenade. 

Still, I wasn't sure how many people I was going to be able to get out of this alive.


	38. Chapter 38

I muttered a tired curse. "Can you go on to the Supreme Elder's tent and check to see if he has a more useful version?" I asked Duclis. "I'm going to take this one—" I brandished Rezo's copy of the mech manual. "—back to Gaav. Maybe there's someone around other than Rezo who knows how to read braille." 

"I don't think the chances of the Supreme Elder having brought something like that with him are high," the tiger-man said. "But it's worth a shot, I suppose. Good luck." 

I gave Dynast a glance. Well, I'd promised to leave him alive. With a little luck, Rezo's mech would eat him. 

"We'll leave first," I told him. And did. Or at least I did, stepping through the tent flap and into the rain. 

There was a brief flash of fire from over by the mech, which at least answered the question of where Gaav was. I ran, this time ignoring both puddles and patches of light. Anyone awake was busy running away or shooting at the mech, and anyone still asleep wasn't going to wake up no matter what I did. 

I passed through the last line of tents at the edge of the motor pool just in time to see someone go out in a futile blaze of glory by ramming the silver mech with a jeep. Another incendiary hit and briefly set fire to a puddle of spilled gas as the mech engulfed both vehicle and driver, but the rain didn't let it burn for very long. 

A moment later, Gaav materialized out of the dark right beside me, as though he had some kind of Val Radar. "Did you find it?" 

I grimaced. "Sort of." And handed him the manual we'd gotten from Rezo's document case. 

He flipped it open . . . and frowned, eyes narrowing. "What _is_ this shit?" 

My heart sank. I mean, until that moment, I think part of me had believed my lover knew how to do anything and everything. Including how to read scripts for the blind. "Braille." 

Gaav closed his eyes briefly. "Fuck. Do you know how to read it?" 

I shook my head. "La Gioconda didn't have a copy, though, so unless Duclis turns one up at the Supreme Elder's tent, this may be our only shot." 

"About now, I want to take after your friend Jillas and get either stoned, or very, very drunk," Gaav said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Okay. I can't read it. You can't. Who do we have who'd have a reason to learn how? Not Duclis, or you would have brought him back. Not Vrumugun, or it would have been in his file." 

"Not Jillas or Gravos," I added—I'd known them for long enough that I would have found out. The problem was, most of the rest of our crew was a question mark. " . . . Zelgadis," I suggested, after chewing on it for a bit. "He lived with Rezo for a while. I don't know if he learned braille, but he's the only one I can think of who _might_ have had a reason to try." 

"Xellos as second choice," my lover added. "Spying on Rezo isn't a _good_ reason to learn this shit, but at least it's _a_ reason, and Zelas says he's bored a lot of the time. Fortunately, they're both together, so we can catch them both at once. We should have paid more attention to Eris." Gaav scowled. I could understand why: she'd had the highest motivation of anyone other than Rezo to learn braille. So if we'd been able to keep her alive, we might already be mounting an attack on the mech. "Anyway, we need to get back to our so-called base camp. If any of that group has an ounce of sense—and Zelgadis seems to—they'll have given up on the idea of mounting a diversion. It isn't like we need one now, anyway." 

"Yeah." It might mean leaving the Supreme Elder alive at our back, but I couldn't see that we had any choice now, even if I hated it. 

Gaav set off at a jog, and I trotted beside him. "You know—" I began, then stopped. 

"Hmm?" 

"I think it's better if I don't say it." 

"Why?" 

"Because if we were in a movie or something, I'd be bringing all kinds of hell down on our heads." 

My lover snorted. "Except that this was real life, the last time I checked. Come on, out with it." 

"Well . . . don't you think it's odd that Rezo's been completely ignoring us? I mean, you've been throwing _grenades_ at him, for Ceiphied's sake! And yet he doesn't seem to care." 

"I don't think I've done him any more real damage than the Paladins shooting at him, and I dodge a lot better. I don't think he's gotten a good look at me. I worked pretty fucking hard to keep it that way, too." 

That still didn't explain why Rezo hadn't tried just as hard to _get_ a good look at him . . . but I didn't bother saying it. Gaav probably had no more idea why things were going this way than I did. Maybe Rezo was just having too much fun to bother focusing on hunting down one person in particular. Maybe being dissolved into a mech turned you even crazier than you were to begin with. Maybe he'd eaten some of the stew after all, and it was messing with his though processes. And maybe it was just a coincidence. 

The light from the various lamps faded quickly once we were past the edge of the encampment, and we paused a moment to let our eyes adjust as best they could before taking out our flashlights, checking by feel to make sure they were on the "dim" setting, and aiming them at the ground. It wasn't a lot of light, but it had been enough to keep us from tripping over our own feet on the way in. _Should have brought night-vision goggles . . ._ but we hadn't expected to be doing quite this much sneaking around in the dark. 

Four blocks. The nape of my neck itched as we jogged along, and I couldn't help feeling like I was running away, even though I knew that wasn't really so. My parents—maybe it was the familiar streets, the burned buildings invisible in the night, that conjured up their ghosts—would have said that running was the right thing to do. My grandfather, the one who had been an Elder, would have talked about non-violent resistance, but how do you make that work against a psychotic nutbar? I couldn't see a way. All you could do was pass the buck by letting yourself be killed, and then hope that someone else would clean up the mess you'd left behind. Only a total jerk would do that. 

I snorted, and Gaav glanced at me. "Now what?" 

"Just thinking that I have a bit of a complex about pacifism," I explained, and heard him chuckle. 

"I'd be surprised if you didn't, after all the shit you've been through. As a philosophy, it ignores the fact that human beings are still animals. We hunt, chase, and kill by instinct. A group of pacifists can only thrive in an environment where everyone else prides themselves on overriding their instincts. Otherwise, they're automatically either dead or enslaved." 

I chewed on that as we covered the last block and turned the corner. Like a lot of what he said, it felt right to me, in line with my own instincts. Just a bit more articulate. 

We turned right again, up a weed-choked driveway. I didn't remember whose house this had been, which was probably a mercy, but they'd had a detached garage made out of cement blocks that had survived the fires. Although the main door was off its tracks and lying in the mud, the tin roof was still in one piece, making the building the dryest place in this section of town right now. So we'd decided to use it as a forward base. 

We were lucky. Very, very lucky. When we ducked inside, we found not only Filia, Vrumugun, Lina, Zelgadis, and Xellos, but also a shamefaced Gravos and Gourry, and their escorts. Everyone except Pokota and Duclis, in other words. 

"My, my, Uncle Gaav! You really have set off quite the assortment of fireworks, haven't you?" Xellos asked, with a cheeky grin. There was another dark, handprint-shaped stain on the left side of his face—had he been baiting Filia again? 

"It wasn't on purpose," Gaav growled. "And we don't have time to mess around. Can anybody read this?" He slapped the mech manual down on the chipped linoleum counter that ran the length of the garage, among rusty tools. 

Lina grabbed it immediately. "Of course I can! You mean you . . . can't . . ." Her voice slowed as she flipped through the pages. "What the hell is this?!" 

"Braille," Gaav said dryly. "It belonged to Rezo, and if there's another copy anywhere around here, we haven't been able to find it." 

"Is it his secret plans?" Suddenly, Lina was all eager again. 

"Sort of," I said. Well, they _were_ "secret plans", just not the type she was thinking of. 

"Wait—I know—Zel! You know how to read this bumpy stuff, don't you?" 

"Not very well," the young man said, but he sighed and accepted the manual when she shoved it at him. He opened it, and began running his fingers slowly over the pages. " . . . I think these are words, but I have no idea what they mean. 'Nano-techno-logical break-through'? Well, all right, I get the 'breakthrough' part . . ." 

"Nanotech's little tiny machines," Jillas said. "Microscopic. I didn't know they could actually do anything with it yet. What's that book, boss?" 

"It's the manual for the experimental mech that's trashing the Paladins' camp," I said, and Milgazia winced. "Sorry. We're trying to figure out how to stop it, because if we don't, it could make one hell of a mess." 

"So it just went off on a rampage by itself? Remarkable, the things technology can do these days." Xellos smiled brightly as he spoke. 

"Rezo's piloting it," Gaav growled. "Which makes it our mess. Mine, Val's, since he's marrying in, and yours." 

"And mine," Zelgadis said, although he was still looking down at the book. "Let's see, here, 'Table of Contents' . . . 'Troubleshooting' . . . I hope this doesn't tell me to make sure it's plugged in. 'Loss of Control' . . . that might be what we want." 

"So what does it say?" Lina was so impatient she was almost foaming at the mouth. _Guess she doesn't like cliffhangers._

"Um, Lina?" Gourry said. "It might be better not to distract him if we want the answers fast. Reading that stuff can't be easy." 

"He's fine, jellyfish," the would-be journalist said easily. 

Judging from the motions of his hand, Zelgadis had already examined the section once and was going over it again. "This doesn't make any sense," he said, looking up. "What the hell is naf?" 

"You've got me," I said. "How do you spell it?" 

"Capital-N little-A capital-F," Zelgadis replied with a shrug. 

"Like a chemical name?" Jillas said. 

Rezo's grandson blinked. "Maybe. If it's a chemical, that would be . . . sodium fluoride?" 

"Why would you write sodium as 'Na'?" It seemed inconsistent, and that bothered me. 

Jillas was the one who shrugged and answered, "Dunno, Boss. It's just one of the weird ones, like 'K' for potassium or 'Sn' for tin. Probably from the Latin or something." 

"We're wasting time," Gaav growled. "Is this sodium fluoride shit the chemical failsafe they built in to take the thing down if it went out of control?" 

Zelgadis ran his fingers over the page again. "I think so." 

"Next question: where do we get some?" 

Vrumugun stirred. "It's used for water fluoridation, mostly at smaller plants like the one here. We found some of it in storage. Twenty-five-kilo plastic drums." 

"Any reason we can't just throw it around?" Gaav said, looking at the engineer. 

"Chemistry isn't my area, and we didn't bother to restart the fluoridation system, but the only hazard signs posted in the storage room were for poison. Based on that, I would assume it poses no risks provided reasonable precautions are taken." 

"So try not to touch it directly, or eat it or breathe it. Dump the sealed canisters in a pit with some explosives, lure the mech in, and set it off from a distance, maybe. Fuck. Okay. First thing we need to do is get down to the plant and bring some of this shit back. How big are the canisters?" 

Vrumugun gestured. Not huge, but we wouldn't be able to get a lot of them in a jeep, either. 

"Val and I and Vrumugun will go," Gaav said firmly. "The rest of you—find a big, shallow hole, and you, Jilles, start wiring it up. And think about how to lure the mech in." 

I followed my lover back out into the night. 

"Vrumugun, you take Duclis' jeep," Gaav ordered. "Val, you're with me." 

_Crunch_. The ground shook nearby, just a hint of vibration. Something large was approaching, invisible in the rainy dark. 

" _Hell,_ " I snarled. 

"Get moving!" Gaav barked. Which meant running along the street, since we'd parked the jeeps another couple of blocks down to reduce the chances of anyone else finding our temporary headquarters. 

Apparently someone had figured out how to hotwire the other mechs. Or at least, that was better than having it turn out to be Rezo. Duclis or Pokota would have made some effort to warn us, wouldn't they? 

I ran, stumbling in the dark, and tried not to think about what might be going on behind us. That garage might have resisted the fire, but I didn't think it would survive being stepped on. Hopefully the people inside had already noticed it and were scattering. 

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._ Slow, deliberate steps. If it had infrared scanners, the damned thing could probably see us . . . but it wasn't moving any faster than we were. Maybe the operator didn't entirely know what he was doing. If we got to the jeeps, we might have a good chance. 

Although it would have been kind of nice if even _one_ of the major factions around here had been an ally instead of an enemy. 

There! That had to be the jeeps, just barely visible as shadows against shadow. Either that, or two car hulks placed just so . . . but that didn't seem likely to me. 

_RAT-TAT-TAT!_

There were flashes of light as bullets struck metal up ahead, struck—oh, hell, I could smell gas—Gaav grabbed my arm, but I was already turning. Whoever was driving the mech might have figured out where we were going, or maybe it had only been meant as a warning shot, but it was clear that we weren't taking those jeeps anywhere. 

"Lights!" my lover snapped. "He'll just pick us off if we try to continue like this!" 

I jammed my thumb against the slider on my flashlight, turning it up to maximum, and suddenly I could see the jeeps, both with bullet holes stitching their sides. And the mech, painted with Anaharran military insignia. It hadn't even been following us. It had looped around to get in front. 

Gaav was glaring at it, and I felt my lips draw back in a snarl. We didn't have weapons that would go through that armour, or the time and leisure to jump on the thing's back and dismantle it. I felt like a trapped animal. 

We should have put up our hands and surrendered. Just the thought made rage stir in the pit of my stomach. I'd come this far, fought and killed and I was just supposed to give up because of some asshole foot soldier's shiny tin can? 

_FWOOM!_

And then there was a big, big bang, and bits of metal flying everywhere as something blew the mech's head off. 

Lights came on, and I looked up to see Duclis sitting on the shoulder of another mech. Its opposite shoulder had a raised panel with a few whisps of smoke still coming out from under it. Presumably that was where the missile or whatever had been fired from. 

"Anyone need a lift?" the tiger-man asked, with what I think was supposed to be a grin. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I wonder if he's ever going to figure out I lied. I mean, I didn't do it because I wanted to do it. I did it because I didn't want him to know I'd been in danger. 

Throwing grenades at Rezo's fucking mech had never been going to be safe, but I don't ever want him to know just how close I came. 

It was easy enough at first: throw bang-bangs, hope I was doing some damage, go back to the tent for another armload. 

Find one of those kids Milgazia mentioned on the third trip. Stupid brat was only half-dressed, and his hands were shaking so hard he could barely hold his gun. 

I think I might have rolled my eyes. I know I said something like, "Put it down, idiot. I'm not here to hurt _you_." 

Even with the shitty light, I could see his adam's apple work as he swallowed. "I . . . I . . ." Kid was about Val's age, but exactly his opposite in personality. Val would have called me names and then either lowered the gun or pulled the trigger, not just stood there rattling it. 

I grabbed the gun by the barrel and pushed it out of the way, knowing that he might pull the trigger by reflex anyway. "You don't point one of those at anything you're not sure you want to shoot, remember? From basic training?" I was trying to be gentle because I knew Milgazia wanted as many of these kids as possible to get out of here safe, and I kind of respected the Paladin colonel even if I didn't think much of the kids themselves. 

The kid licked his lips. Forced a smile. "Um, yeah, I guess I do. It's just . . . I've never . . ." 

_Never been in a situation like this before,_ I finished inside my head. The kid probably came from a good middle-class family and had never had to make a decision that might land him in more shit than a stiff lecture, and then they'd dumped him in this straight out of training. 

I sighed. "Look, why don't you—" And then I noticed something silver. Moving silver that almost looked like it was glowing from the inside, slipping under the edge of the tent near his feet. "Fuck! We need to get out of here _right now_!" 

I grabbed the kid by the wrist and had gotten him to take a couple of steps before he could even manage to gabble out a "What?!" Then he . . . well, it wasn't like he stumbled. Not exactly. More like he slid off his feet, if that makes any sense. When I looked down, he was coated in silver goo to the ankles. I pulled on his wrist again and he slid forward without any resistance, with his eyes wide and staring at me and the silver crap was almost lapping at my boots and I . . . 

. . . I let go. Of him. Because I couldn't see what else to do. I couldn't save him, and it wouldn't do anyone any good for me to die here with him. 

He was screaming as I ran from the tent. It was a sound I'd heard before, high-pitched and terrified. At least there was no begging to go with it this time. 

At least I wasn't the one causing it. This time. 

A hero would have stayed. A hero would have tried to find a way, no matter how impossible it seemed. But I'm not a hero, and I never have been. Val knows that, thankfully. So if he does hear about this someday, I don't think he'll really mind, although he might beat on me a bit for risking my neck. 

I wish my own feelings about what happened were half as easy to sort out. Does part of me, somewhere deep down, still want to be a hero? After all the shit I've been through? It's fucking ridiculous, but I guess . . . it's also human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, the water treatment plant wasn't just included randomly. ;)


	39. Chapter 39

It was possible to fit two people on each shoulder of the mech, if they were good friends, although it would make it difficult for the mech to fight. Still, no one else involved in this mess had any reason to head for the water treatment plant, so we all thought it was worth taking the chance. 

The mech had handholds for passengers, thankfully, or we would have slid off. It still wasn't exactly a fun ride. I knew I was going to have a bruise from my ass bouncing against the unpadded metal at twenty-five miles an hour. The only good part was being settled with my body pressed against Gaav's and his arm around me, and even that wasn't as much fun as it would have been without the rain gear. 

Dawn broke somewhere behind the clouds as we approached the water treatment plant, turning the skies from black to grey, and the rain slackened to drizzle. That was as dry as it would get here for the next couple of months. In the parking lot, we clambered down off the mech, and it crouched down to park. A moment later, Pokota got out of the cockpit and nodded to us. 

We didn't talk as Vrumugun led the way through the plant, either, until Gaav broke the silence. 

"We've got to think of some way to get this shit back to town once we find it," he said. "Pokota, you know more about that mech of yours than anyone else. Did you design in any cargo capacity?" 

Pokota nodded. "There are hooks for a backpack, and a big netting thing that fits them stored in a compartment in the lower back. What are we going to be carrying?" 

It was Vrumugun who provided a quick sketch of an explanation as we went around three sides of a big room three stories deep and full of chugging pumps. The hallway ended at a loading dock with the storeroom to our right. 

The canisters were made of grey plastic, each with _NaF 25kg_ and a black skull and crossbones stenciled on the side. _Do not ingest,_ added some fine print. _Do not inhale dust. May cause fatal cardiac arrhythmia. Lethal dose 5-10g._ Well, wasn't that just wonderful? 

"I hope these are well-sealed," Pokota said, echoing my thoughts. 

"Unless the dust is really heavy, you're not going to be able to breathe in ten grams," Gaav said. "But if we find any that look open or leaky, we'll leave them. Anyway, I want you and Duclis to get that loading gate open and bring the mech around. The rest of us can start moving the canisters out into the hall." 

They turned out to be exactly the right size and weight for me to pick up one canister under each arm and carry them around comfortably. Another sign that the multicoloured crap Phibrizzo and his lackeys had injected me with had done me some good, because Pokota, when he came back from the loading dock, had a hard time lifting even one. 

We worked as quickly as we could, in grim silence: Vrumugun took canisters from the storeroom and passed them to me in the hall, I passed them on through the door of the loading dock to Gaav, and Duclis finished up by taking each one and stuffing it under the netting that formed the mech's "backpack". Pokota had given up after his abortive attempt to lift a single canister and was standing under an overhang out on the loading dock, where he wouldn't be in the way. 

"The net's going to tear if we force any more in," Duclis called to the rest of us after we'd been working for a while. 

"How many have we got?" Gaav asked. 

"Twenty-two." 

"That's around half a ton. Should be enough, if it works at all." 

"This is going way too smoothly," I muttered to myself as we clambered back on board the mech. 

"Just a brief lull in the storm," Gaav replied as I settled beside him. "We'll have people shooting at us again soon enough." 

Instead of replying, I leaned into him. It was weird. This expedition hadn't exactly been fun, but it had made me feel alive in a way I never had before. It was probably just the constant shots of adrenaline hitting my system, but . . . 

Then the mech rose to its feet and took its first step, and my thoughtful mood disappeared instantly as I bounced and my weight came down on my already-sore tailbone. If I was lucky, I'd only have a bruise the size of my fist. I was betting on bigger, though. 

It was as light as it ever got during the rainy season by the time we reached the edge of town, and we weren't exactly being inconspicuous, what with the giant robot and all. Hopefully the rain and the other giant robots and the military issue rainwear would keep anyone from figuring out who we were. We could hear sounds of sporadic gunfire coming from not too far away. 

I didn't know about anyone else, but _my_ main worry at this point was that someone with too much time on his hands had spotted Jillas and the others . . . but we found Filia waiting for us at the cement-block garage, and she directed us to a lot on the next street over. The house there had burned very thoroughly and collapsed into its shallow basement, and years of weathering on top of that had produced a big hole about four feet deep, with slanted edges. Which was perfect for what we wanted. 

The ground inside the ex-basement was studded with . . . hexagonal knobbly things. I raised my eyebrows because they didn't match up with my notion of how a bomb should look at all. Plus, it was Gourry and a frowning Milgazia, not Jillas, who were placing the last few to complete a staggered pattern. 

Gaav's eyebrows had gone up too. "Landmines? Fuck, _someone_ knew this was going to get serious." 

"La Gioconda," Duclis said succinctly as he hopped down off the mech's shoulder. "I'm just surprised that Mr. White-Robes over there agreed to steal them." He gestured at Milgazia, whose paladin outfit was more brown than white now. 

"If we use them for this, they can't be deployed to harm civilians somewhere else," the paladin said. "I take it that's our sodium fluoride?" 

"Half a ton of it," I said with a grin. 

"All right, then. We need to place the canisters for maximum dispersal . . . I assume." The quick glance at Gaav suggested that Milgazia had just remembered who was in charge here. Well, to the extent that anyone was. 

"Works for me," my lover said. "Duclis, you and Maunttop start handing them down, and Vrumugun and Val will haul them over for Milgazia and I to place. Then, once we've got them where we want them, we need to talk about how to lure Rezo in." 

I'm embarrassed to admit it took me several seconds to remember that Maunttop was Gravos' last name—because I never thought of him by it, I guess. Or because I was more tired than I thought. Or because Gaav's last sentence had left a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

While I hadn't watched it for long, it seemed to me that Rezo's mech was mostly interested in chasing . . . people. Ideally ones who were on foot and couldn't get away easily. We were going to have to do something like a relay race, and not all of us would be able to run in it. Gaav and I and Vrumugun. It was possible that, say, Duclis could sprint faster over a short distance, but the Syndicate supersoldier program meant that the three of us could _keep_ sprinting at top speed over a longer distance. It had to be us. 

Selfishly, I hoped Gaav would leave the whole thing to Vrumugun and me (or even just to Vrumugun, because I wouldn't miss the creepy expressionless bastard one bit if the mech ate him), but in my heart I knew he wouldn't. He'd want it done right, and he wouldn't want to put me at risk any more than I wanted to risk him, so he'd insist on doing as much as possible himself. 

My mind went around and around in circles as I hauled cylinders from the mech to the basement. Could we use the mech to decoy Rezo in? It depended on how much of his mind was still functioning, I decided. As far as I knew, he hadn't spoken since the first few minutes after he'd been absorbed. Could someone continue thinking normally when they were dissolved into a . . . a soup of tiny machines? And suddenly receiving information from a sense they'd never had before, on top of that? 

When we'd finished moving all twenty-two canisters, I looked over at Gaav. I wasn't actually wearing my engagement ring on my finger just now, because it was flashy and I was still dressed for sneaking around the encampment in the middle of the night. Instead, I'd hung it on the chain with my mother's medallion, and I raised my hand to touch the small, hard lump through my clothes. My past and my future. Both there. 

Both here. 

Gaav met my gaze, and nodded to me. Then he turned to address the others. 

"I think most of you have already figured it out, but for those who haven't, I'll provide a quick summary. First, that fucking mech likes to chase people more than it likes to chase jeeps or whatever." 

"Why?" Filia asked. 

"How the fuck should I know?! Maybe we're better nutrition. Maybe it just likes the taste. Maybe it flipped a coin. That isn't the point. It likes to chase people, so the easiest way of getting it here is to give it people to chase. Is it still wandering around the encampment?" 

"As far as we know," Milgazia said. 

"'pparently it just sticks in place for a while sometimes, like it's thinking," Jillas added. 

"How do you know?" I asked. 

"Pulled the radio from one of the jeeps, Boss. I figured no one would notice us eavesdropping with so much other crap going on, and so far they haven't." 

Gaav grunted. "The _point_ is, our best chance of getting it over here is to offer people for it to chase. Eight to ten blocks' worth. And once it's fixated on someone, it's going to be difficult to get it to let him loose again." 

"Or her," Lina Inverse said challengingly. 

"This isn't a theoretical exercise in fucking gender equality—or did you just volunteer? Even if you did, I'm going to have to turn you down. We need you reporting on this, not turned into silver goo because those short legs of yours weren't good enough to keep you out in front." 

"But—" 

"Lina," I said, and she did turn to look at me. "If we don't get the news out, then a whole bunch of people involved in this are going to end up escaping the punishment they deserve. And you're the only one here who might be able to do something about that." That was a lie, actually: Milgazia might be able to do something if he really wanted to, or Zelgadis might be able to convince his girlfriend and her father to help. "We're relying on you to get the word out about what happened here." Selectively. But Gaav and I could go over that with her later—and if we died, it wouldn't matter if she told the world we'd murdered La Gioconda anyway. 

Gaav nodded approvingly, and continued with, "Of the people here whose speed I know, I'm the fastest—height advantage," he added with a smirk. "Val and Vrumugun both have decent times too. Milgazia, Duclis, and you, Gabriev—I know you made it through basic training, and you all look like you're still in decent shape. You'll be in reserve, positioned to step in if something goes wrong and a member of the main relay team ends up in trouble. The rest of you I want out of the way, unless you're regional track champs or something and I just don't know about it." 

Filia bit her lip and looked at the ground, Zelgadis frowned, Jillas and Gravos exchanged glances, and Xellos smiled goofily—not that any of that told me much, since it was standard behaviour for all of them. 

"Vrumugun, you're going to get the thing's attention," Gaav was saying. "Val, you'll pull it off him after the first couple of blocks. That gives you the longest stretch." The _I trust you not to fuck it up_ was . . . implied. "Then I'll take over from that corner there, and lead it into our little trap." He pointed down the street. 

I bit down on my tongue so hard I drew blood, so as to stop myself from saying, _So you might be caught in the blast from one of the land mines?_ He knew that. He knew that I knew it. And we both knew that someone needed to take the risk. 

There were a few details to iron out, of course, like _how_ to get the Rezo-mech's attention (more hand grenades, shrapnel variety) and exactly where and how Vrumugun and I were going to switch off, but soon I was sitting on the shoulder of the mech Pokota and Duclis had . . . borrowed, headed back toward the hotel and the encampment. Without Gaav's comforting arm around me this time. His absence made me feel cold and alone, a feeling I couldn't shake no matter how much I sneered inwardly at myself for being such a wuss. 

There was no room for weakness in my life. Not now. Maybe not ever. 

I hopped down when the mech reached the pre-arranged corner, and crouched down behind an overgrown hedge in a mess of wet weeds. I was going to have to run six blocks in heavy boots on soaking-wet broken pavement with silver death coming up behind me. After throwing grenades at it. 

There's probably something out there that's less fun than being the main character in a bad action flick where the special effects are the real star, but right then I couldn't think of it. I was pretty sure I was never going to be able to watch one of those movies again, though. Even if I didn't end up having flashbacks, the realism level was a joke. I mean, they cut out all the waiting parts, and I was discovering there were _lots_ of those. And they were all unpleasant. Right now, for instance, I was wet to the knees from rain-covered weeds, and the damp was starting to spread down into my boots. I wasn't used to this anymore. Hell, I might even catch a cold. I just hoped it held off until this was over. 

All the while I was grumbling to myself, I was also watching the street through the thinner parts of the hedge, waiting for my moment to jump out and start throwing grenades. 

I think I'd been there maybe fifteen minutes when I heard pounding footsteps over the rain, combined with the occasional splash as someone hit a puddle. I tensed and checked the half-dozen grenades I'd been keeping dry under my rainwear. _Ready._

When Vrumugun showed up, I actually jumped _over_ the hedge. I hadn't even known I could do that—not from a standing start, anyway. I stumbled as I landed and felt ice slide down my spine in the instant before I caught my balance. _Damn._ If I wiped out here, I was dead, simple as that. 

Vrumugun slapped me on the shoulder as I came up even with him and matched his pace. "Be careful of that thing. It doesn't make any noise at all. You don't want it to sneak up on you." The whole performance was so out of character that it came across as even more creepy than usual. Especially since his expression never changed. 

"Right," I said, and pulled the pin on the first grenade. I glanced sharply backward, and threw. The edges of the silver mass that was Rezo's mech blended with the rain, so I couldn't always tell exactly where it left off, but I figured throwing at center mass would probably result in my hitting it. 

A couple of seconds later, there was a _bang_. I didn't bother looking back. None of this was going to do it any damage, anyway. It was just to get Rezo's attention. 

"This is where I leave," Vrumugun said. He diverted a bit to the left and jumped down an open manhole. It would have been a pretty stupid thing for a normal person to do, but we'd checked it earlier, and the sewer system was only about eight feet deep at this point, and separated from the storm drains somehow, so it wasn't too badly flooded. Someone with reinforced bones would land hard and uncomfortably, but it wouldn't be dangerous. 

I ran, knowing that I had to pace myself to last the full distance, occasionally taking a quick look over my shoulder to make sure that . . . thing . . . was still interested, but not gaining. I threw another grenade every block or so. If Rezo's brain had been engaged, surely he would have realized he was being lured by now . . . ? 

I was about a block and a half from the end when I stumbled again. I recovered, but all of a sudden everything seemed much harder. My knees were turning to jelly, and my vision was going blurry. What the _hell_ . . . ? 

One more block. My feet were numb. I staggered and forced myself to keep on. My shoulder hurt. Actually, my _everything_ was starting to hurt, but the shoulder Vrumugun had slapped was giving me an unusually sharp pain. I reached back and found something small and hard under my fingers. It didn't even qualify as a dart, really, just a sort of needle-plus-reservoir thing, with no fletching. 

I closed my hand around it firmly as I started to fall forward. They'd need it to figure out what I'd been hit with, if I somehow managed to survive this. 

"Val!" Strong arms lifting me. Blur of red. Gaav? "Fuck, what's going on?" 

_I love you. Save yourself._ But what I _needed_ to say, as opposed to what I wanted to say, was, "Vrumugun. Trai-tor. In my . . . hand." 

And then there was nothing more. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I didn't have time to be shocked, what with the silver shit already rolling up the street. I just slung him across my shoulders—fireman's carry, thank you military school—and ran as fast as I fucking well could. 

Vrumugun. I remembered with a jolt that the bastard was actually a defrocked priest, of all things. Rezo had recommended him to the Syndicate, and financed his retraining as an engineer. I should have fucking known that he wasn't reliable, but I'd been too busy to sit down and try to remember the details of his file. 

Val moaned as I turned to throw a grenade—there was no way to do that without turning with his limp body blocking my line of sight. The silver shit wasn't nearly as far back as I would have liked, and I took off again at top speed. My breath was burning in my lungs, and I knew I wasn't pacing myself well, but there was no choice. I had to stay ahead. I had to get out of this in one piece. If not for my own sake, then for him. 

One thing was for sure, though: when this was over, there was going to be another person on my hit list.


	40. Chapter 40

I jounced back to awareness with my eyes still open. I couldn't seem to muster the concentration to close them, even though watching an uneven slice of wet pavement while being jolted by Gaav's stride wasn't doing wonders for the state of my stomach. I wanted to tell him to put me down, that I could run for myself, even though I knew it would be a lie, but my tongue wouldn't cooperate either. 

His hand gripped my belt as we barrelled down a slope—were we at the fallen-in basement already? Yeah, that was a canister, and _that_ was a landmine, _oh Ceiphied we are going to die!_ My weight had to be pulling Gaav off-balance . . . and yet he was somehow keeping his feet, dodging between the mines . . . Was Rezo, if he could still be given that name, at least following? I couldn't crane my head to check. Wasn't sure that I wanted to, either. 

I tried to look on the bright side. I mean, if something went really wrong here, at least we would go together. That was better than being alone again. 

We hit the slope on the other side. I could hear not just the roar of my fiance's breathing, but also the thundering of his heart, even over the rain as he struggled to climb up the ramp of loose debris. We couldn't stop here—we needed to get at least a little ways away before the mines went up, because being pelted with powdered sodium fluoride probably wouldn't be good for us. 

Gaav staggered, stumbled, swore, and threw me forward over the makeshift barrier we'd build out of anything we could find in the hope of offering some protection from the explosion. The he dove forward too, covering my limp body with his own. _You idiot!_ I thought. I mean, normally I _liked_ having him on top of me, but it was difficult to breathe, and I couldn't elbow him in the ribs to get him to change position. So far, I hadn't even managed to twitch. 

I felt a cold prickle all over my skin. Okay, so the crap Vrumugun had given me would probably wear off, since it didn't seem to be instant poison. Probably. If it didn't, was I going to be like this—paralyzed, aware, but unable to do much of anything—for the rest of my life? Would Gaav still take care of me if I was trapped in this state? 

It was a stupid thing to worry about and a stupid time to be worrying about it, I knew that. I think I might have been trying to distract myself from the very real, very _near_ death threat that Rezo's silver blob mech represented. 

_Crumph! Crumph-crumph-crumph!_

The ground shook, and a moment later chunks of glop came pattering down around us. None of it was silver—not that I could see, anyway. Normal rainy-season mud, old ash, bits of vegetation, white and grey goop without that dangerous silvery luster. 

"Shit," Gaav muttered. "I hope the army and the Paladins left the plumbing at the hotel alone, 'cause I'm really looking forward to having a shower." 

Two more _crumphs_ , more widely spaced, then silence for what felt for a long time. Finally, Gaav rolled off me and rose to his knees so that he could poke his head over the edge of the barrier of mud, branches, and debris that separated us from the hole full of land mines. 

"Looks like it's gone," he said after a moment. "There's still some goop lying in there, but it's all gone grey." He sat down in the mud beside me and lifted my head and shoulders into his lap. "Sorry 'bout that, Val, but I figured having you alive to chew me out for shoving your face in the mud was more important." 

I was able to organize my tongue and throat enough to say something like, "Yuh." So maybe the stuff Vrumugun had given me was wearing off. 

His entire body lost several degrees of tension. "You know, for a while there, I was afraid I'd been hauling a fucking corpse, but if you're awake enough to talk, you're probably going to be all right. Fuck, I'm tired. Adrenaline crash, I guess. And I can't afford it, because we're not quite done. There's still the Supreme Elder. And Dyn, if he made it. And we're going to have to make sure no one ever figures out what happened to La Gioconda, or we're both in deep shit. If we're lucky, the mech ate the body. That should make it difficult for anyone to prove anything." 

"Mmh," I said, and tried to touch his face. My hand twitched, at least, and the half-forgotten not-a-dart fell into the mud. Gaav noticed and picked it up. It looked even tinier between his huge fingers. 

"'In my hand,'" he quoted. "That's what you meant, right? That he stuck you with this?" 

"Yeah." Talking was slowly getting a bit easier. 

Gaav grimaced. "No way of telling what's in it, unfortunately, unless we can snag a doctor from somewhere . . . and with all that wild shooting that was going on earlier, I'd bet they're kind of busy right now. The field medical shit they taught me is about things like how to keep someone from bleeding out when they've got holes in them, or bits blown off. It doesn't cover drugs. Still, we should probably get you out of the rain. And me too, for that matter. At least I should be able to carry you a little more carefully this time." 

And he did, sliding his arms under me and cradling me close to his chest. I managed the tiniest of smiles. We were both wet and exhausted and stinking and covered in mud and _still together_ , and it was almost over. I'd never even imagined we could make it so close to the end, to our safety and my revenge. 

By the time we made it back to the cement-block garage, I was able to move my arms and legs, feebly. It was going to take an hour or more for the crap Vrumugun had stuck me with to wear off at this rate . . . but at least my worries about permanent paralysis were obviously garbage. 

The others were waiting for us at the garage. That too had been part of the plan, to keep "Rezo" from getting distracted from the people he was supposed to be chasing. Duclis, the last alternate runner, had been supposed to sneak away as soon as Gaav hit the beginning of the last block. Apparently he had, because he was here with the others. I wondered if he hadn't noticed what was going on with me, or he just hadn't been able to act because Gaav had stepped in too fast. 

"Well, you two sure look like a pair of drowned rats," Lina said, with her normal brash tactlessness. "Since you're back here, I'd guess you managed to handle our friend the blob-mech, but what happened to Val?" 

"And where's that Vroomy guy?" Gourry added. 

"Vrumugun was a traitor," I spat. "He stuck me with some kind of tranquilizer when we traded off during the relay. I nearly died." I shivered as it suddenly struck me just how close I'd come. 

"I had to carry him through the last section," Gaav added. "Vrumugun was indebted to Rezo—like a fucking idiot, I didn't remember that until afterwards—but I've got no idea what he was trying to accomplish, whether he had leftover orders and did a piss-poor job of adapting them to events, or what. But right now, we have bigger fish to fry." 

"The Supreme Elder," Milgazia said. 

"And my fucking baby brother, if he made it through," Gaav added. 

"I should have shot him when I had the chance," I grumbled. But we would never have found the mech manual in time if I had. 

"Dealing with Dynast Magnus will be easy, if I can wrench the rest of the Paladins away from the Supreme Elder," the Paladin colonel said. "Any of us would be quite happy to help drag such a high-ranking member of the Ruby-Eye Syndicate into court. And the army is packing up and leaving, according to the communications Mr. Jilles has intercepted, so we have one less thing to worry about." 

"I can't think of any way to deal with the fucking Elder without turning him into a martyr, other than by torpedoing his moral authority," Gaav said tiredly, sitting down on a bench and helping me arrange myself in his lap so that I was sitting mostly upright too, with his arms wrapped loosely around my body. "And since I don't really have any of that myself, I can't do it." 

"But I can." The words tasted immensely bitter as I spoke them. "If you'll work with me, Colonel Milgazia." 

My people wouldn't have wanted their deaths to be used in the way I intended to use them . . . but if I didn't, it would never be over. I smiled thinly. Filia was going to get her way after all. We were going to have to dig up at least part of the damned grave so that we could prove that the people in it had died from bullets and not disease. That wouldn't prove anything about who had fired the bullets, but in combination with my words and Milgazia's assertion that I really was a survivor of the massacre, it should be enough. I hoped. 

"We can't do anything until the shit Vrumugun shot you up with wears off," Gaav said. "And we should all try to get some rest in the meanwhile." Filia might have had the chance to snatch a bit of sleep somewhere during this mess of a night, but the rest of us had been out and running around the whole time. 

There wasn't enough space in the garage for everyone to lie down, and Lina was clearly too keyed-up for a cat nap anyway, but the rest of us did what we could. I fell asleep leaning against Gaav's shoulder, and woke up a couple of hours later feeling weak and still tired, but in full command of my body again. My lover was still snoring, a comforting rumble as steady as the beat of his heart. 

Lina was sitting in a corner and scowling as she traced patterns on the cement floor, and Filia was sitting on the bench and staring into nothing. Everyone else still seemed to be asleep except Zelgadis, who had the braille mech manual open and was tracing his fingers over it slowly. I guess it was better than no reading material at all. 

I should have put my energy into planning the details of how we were going to convince the Paladins to oust the Supreme Elder, but instead my mind wandered to an unanswered question: why had Vrumugun hit me with a tranquilizer instead of just poisoning me outright? I mean, I could think of possible reasons—maybe he'd had the tranquilizer handy, for instance, or maybe he'd just wanted me to suffer—but they were all pretty thin. I hated not knowing, because it felt like it might come back to bite me on the ass someday. 

I shifted slightly, and Gaav's snoring stopped immediately. "Val? Feeling better?" He whispered the words in my ear, so as not to wake anyone else. The stubble on his chin grating against the lobe gave me a weird shivery feeling. 

"Yeah," I breathed, and squeezed his hand. "Um . . . outside?" 

He helped me to my feet. I was still a bit uncoordinated, but I was able to stand and walk on my own. Zelgadis nodded to us as we left. 

Outside, the rain had lightened to drizzle. We went around to the side of the garage, staying under the roof overhang. 

As soon as we were far enough clear of the door that I didn't think the others would be able to see us, I reached up to pull him down for a kiss. It seemed like forever since the last time we'd done that. 

"I hope you weren't expecting me to haul you behind some bushes," Gaav said when we came up for air. 

I shook my head. "Too cold and damp. 'Sides, with a little luck, we'll have a room at the hotel to ourselves tonight again." I kissed his neck. "And I can hardly wait," I added, sucking at his skin until I left a mark. 

"Neither can I. A hot shower, a real roof . . . and you. Couldn't ask for anything more." 

"Mmm." I put my arm around his waist and leaned against his side. Just cuddling and enjoying his closeness. You could say that I'd been doing that even before we'd left the garage, but I couldn't see how I'd ever get enough. "You know, I think . . . you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Despite all the crap I've been through since I met you." 

"And if I'd never met you, I'd probably still be mouldering away in that church, not being much good to anyone." 

I punched his arm, lightly. "I dare you to go tell the colourblind old lady that made that horrible afghan that 'Father Kotomine' was a useless person." 

Gaav chuckled. "Okay, maybe not, but it wasn't a role that played to my strong points. You know, after this is over, I think I want to go to a nice tropical island somewhere. One of those places where it's always sunny and they've never heard of fucking rain." 

"I used to like the rain, you know. When I was about five or six, and didn't actually have to get anything _done_ in it," I added, seeing his expression. "I don't mind going for a vacation in the tropics, but can we afford it? I mean, we're both going to be out of a job after this." 

"I've got bank accounts that the Syndicate doesn't know about," my lover said, with a shrug. "Dolly set us all up years ago. I won't say it's more money than the two of us could _ever_ spend, but we could afford to buy a house somewhere and live comfortably off the interest for the rest of our lives. Plus, even if it's going to take a while to work its way through the fucking legal system down here, you've probably got a fair chunk of change coming yourself—compensation, and whatever inheritances for all of this—" He made a waving gesture that took in the remains of the town. "—haven't been settled yet. You'll probably end up owning most of the land up here too, for whatever it's worth." 

My mind shied away from that. Instead I asked, "If you had that much money, why live in a run-down manse on tomato soup and instant noodles?" 

"Because flashing a bunch of money around would have been out of character. I didn't want to take the risk. And . . . well. I think it would have violated my penance, or some kind of shit like that." 

I raised my eyebrows. "I thought you didn't really believe in all that stuff." 

"Mmh. I don't believe that there's a Ceiphied up there judging us or any of that shit, no. But somewhere along the way, I picked up enough of a sense of right and wrong to get the idea that if you do something wrong, you're supposed to make up for it somehow. Even if it's a piss-poor attempt that can never really balance the scales. But mostly, I was just hiding." 

I nodded. I could understand that. I'd spent some time hiding too. From the world, from my enemies, from myself. Just trying to live from day to day and hoping that no one would ever turn over the rock I'd concealed myself under and force me out into the open. 

"So . . . you got a tropical island in particular that you want to investigate, or should we just pick at random?" I asked, because I really thought we needed to lighten up. "Or maybe go on a cruise?" 

"Not a cruise. We'd be endangering too many people if someone showed up for a grudge match, and anyway, I've never liked boats. I figured we'd just poke through the Internet until we found somewhere that looked good. Unless you've got somewhere you'd like to go." 

I shrugged. "Faloa, maybe? I saw some brochures once. It looked nice." The photos had all showed unspoiled beaches of white sand and well-kept resort hotels. It probably wasn't much different from any other place like that, mind you, but if we were just going to pick at random anyway . . . "Do you know how to scuba dive?" I asked suddenly. "It always seemed like something I might want to try, but . . ." 

"I've got the most basic certification, good for supervised diving only. In your case, you'll need to learn to swim properly first. We'll have all the time in the world, though, so you can work up to it if you like." 

"Well, I don't think either of us would be able to stand just lying there on the beach for more than a couple of days. We'd both go stir-crazy." 

Gaav laughed. "You've got a point there. Fine, I'll dig my wetsuit out of the back of the closet and check it over." 

"Sounds good." Poking around reefs and chasing tropical fish would be pretty relaxing compared to running away from waves of silver goo. Ugh. You'd think that Rezo would at least have _tried_ to keep it in a mech shape for the final confrontation, but maybe the goo-wave had been better for . . . something. Or . . . "I just had a really horrible thought. What if we didn't get rid of the whole nanotech-mech-thing?" 

"Then we'll go get the other half-ton of sodium fluoride from the water treatment plant and carpet-bomb the fucking thing until it stops twitching," Gaav said firmly. Something in his tone suggested I wasn't the only one who had thought about that, either. 

"You know . . ." I started, then stopped. 

"Hmm?" 

"There's a water pistol in the garage." I gestured at the cement block wall. "We know that sodium fluoride stuff dissolves in water, so why don't we fill that up and go check for hot spots?" 

Gaav chuckled. "A water pistol. Actually, that isn't a half-bad idea. Go get it. We can add the fluoride shit when we get there—I doubt all the canisters went up completely." 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I think Val felt a bit silly carrying a "weapon" made of age-clouded neon-green plastic. I know I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. I didn't want him to take a swipe at me just then. Despite the cat-nap, I was tired and ached in every bone. Not as young as I used to be, or maybe sprinting at top speed through the rain while carrying another adult after a long, sleepless night full of adrenaline was a bit of a strain even for my body. 

There was no shortage of water to fill the pistol with, at least. When Val tried it out, the stream went maybe three feet before arcing over and down. Stupid thing looked like it was pissing, and I told Val as much. We both laughed over it. Still, it was a better weapon against the silver goop than a handful of white powder would have been. 

We dug through the broken-up mess at the edge of the pit with a couple of sticks until we uncovered an intact canister that wasn't too close to an intact mine. The stuff inside turned out to be more like little pellets than powder, but we popped a bunch into the water pistol anyway, figuring it would dissolve, before poking through the rest of the pit even more carefully. 

We didn't find any remnant of Rezo's mech. Not that was still working, anyway. There was probably half a ton of grey shit scattered around, but none of it moved if you weren't poking it. 

Still, I had the uncomfortable feeling Val was right: we hadn't gotten rid of Dear Uncle Rezo and his silver pet quite yet. I just hoped that when we found the part that was missing, we were only facing a minor mop-up operation and not the climactic battle of the entire fucking campaign.


	41. Chapter 41

We arrived at the Paladin/Syndicate camp around mid-morning, muddy, tired, aching, and well-armed. Milgazia grimaced with embarrassment when we discovered that there was no perimeter guard at all. Gaav just rolled his eyes, and I reflected it was a good thing he was leaving his job with Syndicate security, or he'd have been preparing to ream someone a new asshole. 

There was only one area of the camp that had much activity at all, and we walked right up to it without anyone challenging us and poked our heads into the largest tent, only to have the first person who actually noticed us get snitty in Gaav's face. 

"Gunshot wounds and broken bones over there. Hypothermia cases over there. And either way, unless someone's dying, you're going to have to wait your turn." The short, brown-skinned woman in Paladin vestments with the medic's armband glared up at my fiance for a moment, then turned around and went right back to what she'd been doing when we walked in. "If you aren't hurt, go outside to wait and stop blocking the entrance." 

"We're looking for a report, actually," Milgazia said. "Number of out-of-action and walking wounded." 

"Colonel, I believe they've removed you from the chain of command." 

Milgazia shrugged. "They did. And then reprimanded me and put me on logistics, due to the shortage of experienced officers. And . . . 'Major', not 'Colonel'," he added, with a grimace. "Not that they've given me time to so much as change my insignia. Meanwhile, I need to know how many people can walk and how many need special transport, so I know how many of what kind of helicopter to call for." 

The medic snorted. "It makes you wonder what you'd have to do to get fired around here. Much less court-martialed. _Sir_ , I mean. Anyway, including the three the army left behind because they weren't stable enough to be hauled over rough roads in the back of a truck for several hours, and the two Magnus Enterprises gave us because we've got better medics, we've got nine needing med-evac—all bullet wound or fracture cases involving organs, spine, or brain. I hate friendly fire. It usually makes more of a mess than a real attack." 

"And the rest?" 

She shrugged. "The ones that made it this far were lucky, mostly. They can go out with ground transport if they have to. Fourteen leg-wound cases who can't be moved without stretchers, but they're stable. Hypothermia cases will need to be kept warm, but we've got chemical heat packs coming out of our ears, thank Ceiphied. Overall, we don't have all that many wounded, considering. The ones that thing got too close to . . . well, as far as anyone can tell, there's nothing left." 

"There wouldn't be," Zelgadis said. "It was designed to break organic chemicals down for fuel, and it wasn't too picky about which ones. We found the manual," he added when the woman gave him an odd look. 

"Well, then, I guess whoever started it up didn't read the instructions. Are we done here? Sir," she added, glancing at Milgazia. 

"One more question," Gaav said. "Did a Dynast Magnus come through here?" 

The medic shook her head. "Not that I'm aware of, but most of the mild cases among the Magnus Enterprises people went to their own medical staff." 

Gaav shook his head. "He wasn't there either, as far as anyone could tell," he lied smoothly. "Maybe he got eaten by the silver goo. It would sure make my life easier. Thanks for your time." 

She raised her hand in a casual wave, then once again turned away from us. 

Outside, Milgazia shook his head and said, ruefully, "My apologies for that. We can't run the medical squads under military discipline—they tend to come from the wrong kinds of backgrounds." 

"You know, it might not be a good idea to just be running around in the open like this," Pokota said suddenly. "I mean, we're pretty distinctive. Sooner or later someone's going to remember which side we were on." 

Gaav snorted. "You think I didn't think of that? Let them. Everyone's chain of command is scrambled, and almost everyone here is afraid of someone in our group. Let them attack us if they've got the balls. I'm tired of sneaking around." He glanced around, and suddenly smirked. "And there comes the perfect ball-less wonder right now." 

Apparently someone had found Rashatt before he died of exposure, which was kind of a shame. From the moment he spotted us, he looked like someone had force-fed him a dozen lemons. But at least he didn't run away. Not that he could have gotten very far, given the crutches and the fiberglass bootie on his left leg, but he didn't even try. 

"You always come out on top, don't you?" he said sourly as we approached him. "Fine. Tell me what you want, so that I can make you go away." 

"Three questions, then. First, did Dynast make it?" 

"Oh, yeah, and is he ever pissed off at you. Rezo's pretty much the same." 

Gaav didn't say anything, but I saw his eyebrow twitch. Myself, I was biting down hard on a _what the fuck?!_ Gourry seemed about to say something, but Lina elbowed him in the ribs and put her hand over his mouth. 

"Who's running the Paladins?" was Gaav's next question. 

"Oh, their Supreme Elder made it too. And _he's_ acting like you tried to make him eat a roasted baby, then stuffed a polecat down the front of his shorts." 

My fiance ignored the colourful description. "Last question: where can I find them?" 

"That's the command tent." Rashatt pointed. Then he snickered. "Or maybe it's the mess tent. I mean, why the fuck would I ever tell you the truth?" 

"You're not inventive enough to make up a good lie," Gaav replied. "Now, get the fuck out of my sight." 

"You don't have to tell me twice." Rashatt began to hobble toward the medical tent. It wasn't until he was a good distance away that anyone said anything. 

"Rezo . . . still alive?" Zelgadis muttered. 

"I swear I saw him get into that mech," I said. 

"But we don't know for sure where all the bits of the mech went." Gaav was scowling at nothing as he tried to work it through. "Maybe he got out, or maybe we've got a silver blob masquerading as the Red Priest. Either way, I'm glad we have that water pistol." 

"What, you want me to just haul off and shoot him in the face?" I asked. 

"Why not? The worst that can happen if we're wrong is that he'll get wet." 

"And I'll have to explain why I did it," I pointed out, with a scowl. 

Gaav shrugged. "I've seen people under high levels of stress do weirder things, and you can't claim this has been easy on you. So long as no one gets hurt, we can gloss it over." 

"We need to find him first," Duclis pointed out. 

"This is going to be hell to write up," Lina muttered. "And my phone ran out of battery yesterday, and we left the big cameras in the car back at the beginning of all this, and no one's going to believe any of it without video or at least pictures . . . Why does this always have to happen to me?" 

To everyone's surprise, Jillas rummaged around in his pockets a bit and then handed her his battered old phone. "Not a lot of space on it, and the camera's lousy, but better than nothing, right? Just don't touch any icons y'don't recognize, 'cause some of the apps on there do a lot more than just play tic-tac-toe." 

Lina blinked several times. "Thanks, Jillas." 

"Would you give me your phone, if I asked you to?" Xellos cheerfully asked Filia. She conked him on the head, hard enough to hurt. Xellos' smile just got even goofier. 

"Fuck, no wonder Zelas is worried about you—you really are a masochist," my fiance said to his nephew. 

Xellos' eyes opened just a slit. "Given our family, I can think of quite a few worse things I could be. At least this way, I won't hurt anyone but myself." 

Gaav acknowledged the point with a gesture. 

"I think I'm very glad everyone tried so hard to keep me away from your side of the family," Zelgadis said, looking a bit disturbed. 

We went to the tent Rashatt had pointed out, and Gaav spread the flaps wide so that we could all get a look inside. After all, we weren't risking much if it did turn out to be the mess tent—just a little embarrassment. 

We ended up with six faces turning toward us: Dynast, the aging security man Raltaak, the Supreme Elder of the Paladins, two strangers—a big man with a thick black mustache and a black-haired, blue-eyed girl who looked like she might be Filia's age—and, yes, Rezo. Or someone who looked like Rezo. 

"Zel! Oh, you really are alright! I was starting to get worried!" That was the strange girl, who immediately threw herself at Rezo's grandson. Zelgadis blushed, but he also hugged her. It completely destroyed the image she must have been trying to create by wearing a businesslike pantsuit. 

"Amelia? Phil? What are you two doing here?" Lina asked, squeezing her way past Xellos. 

The mustached man, who had been watching the girl with a hint of a smile on his face, suddenly went very serious indeed. "We saw your interview, Miss Inverse." 

"What? Oh, right, _that_ interview. Somehow it seems like that all happened a really long time ago," Lina said, waving her hand. 

"And you must be young Mr. Agares," "Phil" added in my direction. "I'm Philionel El Di Seyruun, and this is my daughter, Amelia. We're ashamed to discover that such a miscarriage of justice has continued for so long. You were even living right under our noses, and we never knew." 

"I wasn't exactly advertising who I was or what happened," I said. "Anyway, we can talk about it later. Right now, we're busy." And I pulled the water pistol from the back of my belt and shot Rezo the Red Priest, hoping that I was just going to leave a wet spot on the front of his robes and have everyone stare at me. 

And, well, everyone _did_ stare, but that's because the stuff _sizzled_ when it hit his front. His clothes started to smoke, and there were silver scars left on what I'd thought was cloth, but looked like it was part of his body instead. 

Rezo opened his eyes. They were clear and focused, and I somehow didn't think he was blind—not anymore, at least. They were also two different colours, the left one dark, the right one as golden as my own. He brandished his staff at us. 

"So we were right—you're a leftover chunk of that thing." Gaav planted his hands on his hips. "Truth be told, if you don't try to attack us, I don't give a flying fuck. If you do, well, there's a lot more of that sodium fluoride shit around. A _lot_ more." 

"Sodium fluoride," not-Rezo said slowly. "I had wondered what it was. All I could tell was that it burned. Burned, and . . ." He shook his head. His expression was complicated. "Well? Aren't you going to try to kill me? I am a monster, after all. In just about every way possible. And I'm a terrible danger to humanity." 

"Do you _want_ to die?" Gaav asked. 

I really couldn't understand those expressions of his at all. "No. I want . . . there's so much of the world that I haven't seen yet . . ." Not-Rezo made a frustrated gesture. 

Gaav shook his head. "So long as you intend to stay out of my hair and don't start eating people again, I don't necessarily have any reason to kill you. There are a couple of other people here who might, depending on how much of you is still Rezo, but that's their problem. And I don't give a shit about you being a monster. Most people would say I'm one too." 

I heard the sound of a gun being cocked, and glanced left to find that Dynast had stopped in the act of trying to sneak away, while Gourry had his gun aimed at him. 

"I don't think you're going anywhere right now," the blonde man said with surprising firmness. 

"Yeah," Lina added. "Go back to the table until everyone says you can leave." 

Dynast just about outright snarled at her. But he also went back to the table everyone except Raltaak had been sitting at when we came in. 

"Just spit out what you _want_ , you muscle-bound moron," the younger Magnus said waspishly. 

Gaav tilted his head slightly. "What we want? Hmm. You, the head of the Ruby-Eye Syndicate, dead or in jail—I'm not picky, so long as I don't have to worry about you gunning for my ass. The people involved in the massacre of the Ancient Clan brought to justice, including that wizened up old prune over there. As for you . . ." He turned back towards not-Rezo, and sighed. "I don't know what the fuck to do with you. I don't know whether you can be held responsible for the shit the original Rezo pulled. I'm tempted to say we should let the Taforashians decide, since they're the ones he messed with most, but some of them are bound to be out for blood." 

Not-Rezo lifted an eyebrow. "Do you actually care whether or not they judge me fairly?" 

My lover shrugged. "I guess I do, at that. Must be all those years masquerading as a priest." 

"I think . . ." Pokota said in a low voice, then cleared his throat. "Revenge isn't the most important thing for us. We need a real cure for the Durum Plague, and a cure for the old cure. If you remember enough of what the original Rezo knew to help us with those things, then the rest isn't important." 

_Well, that was anticlimactic,_ I thought, just as Dynast reached out and grabbed Filia's arm, yanking her between him and everyone else in the room. There was a gleam between his fingers: a small pistol with a chromed barrel. 

"If anyone moves, she dies," he said. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

I should have expected it. Part of me _did_ expect it, I think, but we had so many civilians and just plain idiots with us that to have enough eyes to keep one on each of them, I'd have had to look like something from a bad acid trip, or maybe a D &D manual. I'd thought Gabriev was the one keeping an eye on Dyn, but I'd never actually _told_ him to, and I knew he wasn't reliable to begin with. So it was my fault my asshole brother grabbed the Paladin girl. 

Personally, I didn't give a flying fuck if he shot her—she'd been nothing but a pain in the ass so far—but it would make my life, and Val's, that much more difficult. So we'd start by playing by the rules. 

I felt a headache coming on as I asked the stereotypical question, though. "What do you want, Dyn?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So . . . yeah, gratuitous cameos for Amelia, Phil, and Copy Rezo. And I'm done with assassinating Rashatt's character (although I'm still not quite sure why I did it to begin with). Two more chapters to go!


	42. Chapter 42

"Let's start with all of you putting your guns down on the ground and taking a step back," Dynast said. 

I looked at Gaav. My lover nodded, so I took out my gun and bent over to carefully place it on the floor of the tent. Gaav laid down three guns, and Milgazia, Duclis, Gourry, Gravos, Jillas, Pokota, Xellos, and Lina Inverse (with a nasty-looking pocket derringer) added theirs. Dynast got an odd look on his face when he saw just how many of us had been carrying how much firepower. 

"Now what?" my lover asked, straightening up. 

"Helicopter," Dynast said succinctly. 

Gaav raised his eyebrows. "I don't have one. We sent them back after they dropped you here, remember? I might be able to come up with a truck or something." 

"They brought one," the younger man said, jerking his head in Phil's direction. "And I want it." 

"You think you can fly one and hold that girl hostage too?" Gaav asked with a snort. "Sorry to break it to you, Dyn, but you're not a fucking octopus. You don't have that many hands." 

"That's why your boyfriend is coming with me. He's done the sims, he should be able to take it off and keep it in the air." 

"I'm still lousy at the landing part, though," I pointed out. 

"Oh, I'll take over the controls at that point. We'll be free and clear by then." 

"Don't even think about it," Gaav growled. "Xellos can handle the chopper. I'm sure he'd be happy to go with his girlfriend. Val stays here." 

Dynast smiled in a way that reminded me creepily of Phibrizzo. "Oh, no. That wouldn't bother you nearly enough, and I can't help feeling that everything that's happened here is your fault somehow." 

" _My_ fault? How could I have set up any of this shit? _Dad_ was the one who decided to come up here, and you know he never listened to me." 

"You were poking and prodding around the edges," Dynast said. "I always knew you weren't as dumb as you looked. After all, you had the sense to join forces with the girls." His smile twisted even more, and he added, "But if you really _want_ to come, you can . . . if you agree to my conditions. Raltaak, cuff his hands behind his back." 

Gaav gave him a thin-lipped glare, his expression one of cold rage. Actually, he was glaring at Filia too—wondering how much trouble he would be in if he let her get shot, maybe. Selfishly, I wanted to tell him to do exactly that, that I didn't care what happened to her as long as he came out of this okay, but . . . well. There were a bunch of people watching us right now, and some of them had much higher moral standards than I did. My opportunity to shoot the Supreme Elder had been snatched away by events, and tightening the noose of the law around the old buzzard's scrawny neck would be that much easier if Philionel didn't have too bad an opinion of me. Plus, if we went along with Dynast for now there was a possibility of everyone coming out of this okay, which made it a calculated risk. 

My fiance seemed to think much the same, because after a moment, he grimaced, put his arms behind himself, and nodded to Raltaak. The older man didn't look too happy about the situation either, but I guess he either wasn't unhappy enough about it to shoot Dynast, or he was taking his cues from Gaav, because he did as he was told and snapped the handcuffs around my lover's wrists. I was surprised they fit, and they did look like they were pretty tight. I hoped they weren't cutting off his circulation. 

"Show us the fucking chopper," Gaav said to Phil. 

"Ah-ah-ah—I think you're forgetting who's in charge here again, _big_ brother. I want your friends standing _well_ back from our path out. Then you and your boy-toy will walk in front of me. Don't worry—I'll give you directions." 

Gaav scowled again, but he also turned and began to walk slowly out of the tent. I fell in behind him, and behind me, I could hear the awkward sound of two people trying to walk at completely different speeds. 

"Turn right and keep moving," Dynast growled. 

Unfortunately, nothing happened to distract him between the tent and the helicopter, which was sitting in the parking lot of the cafe just down the road from the Paladin encampment. I swallowed as I caught my first glimpse of the thing past Gaav's elbow. It was pretty big. I was supposed to fly that? _I can't even drive a car properly!_

"Open the door, boy-toy." 

A pause. 

"I mean _you_ , you turquoise-haired fag!" 

"I have a name," I said. "And I tend to understand that you're talking to me better when you use it. Maybe I'm just stupid." Pissing him off a little was probably safe, since I doubted he wanted to go find himself another pilot, or release Gaav and put himself at even more risk. Of course, it pissed _me_ off to know he assumed I wasn't dangerous. 

I had to stare at the door for a moment to figure out how to get it open—the latches weren't the same as the ones on a car—but I got it in the end, and climbed inside. The nervous, stomach-churning feeling came back the moment I got a look at the interior, with the pilot's station and instrument panels and all that crap. The seats were laid out in three rows of two, with an aisle down the side nearest the door. I went forward, planted myself in the pilot's seat, and started looking over the controls. Thankfully, the simulator I'd worked with on Wolf Pack Island had featured a more-or-less realistic setup and not just a computer keyboard, so I knew what the pedals were for and stuff like that. 

"Get into the back row, Gaav. And you, girl—beside me." 

I risked a quick glance backward as everyone shuffled around. Dynast was going to be directly behind me, with Filia beside him and Gaav taking up both back seats, from the look of it. Presumably my future brother-in-law wanted to watch what I was doing over my shoulder, but I didn't think he'd taken into account the fact that I was taller than he was. 

"Girl. Get the door." Well, Filia was the only one who could—I'd have to get up again in order to reach it, Gaav's hands were unavailable right now, and Dynast couldn't let go of his gun. 

Filia must have done as she was told, because the door slid into place with a _chunk_. I was still trying to identify things on the instrument panel—altimeter, right. Fuel gauge. And the thing that told you how fast the blades were spinning was . . . there. 

"What are you waiting for? Start it up!" Dynast snapped. 

_Fuck off,_ I thought, but I'd found the key, so I turned it, then hit what I hoped were the right switches. An engine started grumbling somewhere nearby, and a single drop of sweat ran down between my shoulderblades. Okay, so that was step one complete. Step two, open the throttle and have it spin up . . . There were a bunch of checklisty things I was supposed to be doing before and after and in between, but I doubted Dynast was going to wait for them. I'd just have to hope that the Seyruuns' staff had looked after their helicopter properly, and their pilot had done his checklist when he'd landed the bird. Collective in one hand, cyclic in the other . . . _Well, here we go._

I managed to get us in the air and moving forward in the direction the helicopter had been pointing, although I wouldn't say I did it smoothly. 

"Turn west. West, not north!" 

"We were headed almost due east," I pointed out. "We have to go through either north or south to get to west, and I've never actually done this before, so I have to take it slow. Unless you _want_ to plow into a hillside." I was being very, very delicate on the controls, since I'd crashed the simulator several times by oversteering. 

"Useless bastard," Dynast muttered. Then, louder, "How much fuel do we have?" 

"Three-quarters of a tank." Of course, I had no idea how much flying time that translated into. But if he wanted me to head west, he probably wanted to get to Acalcaga, which was around two hundred fifty miles by road, but a lot less in a straight line. An hour? Two? Not more than that, hopefully. 

I got on what I hoped was the right heading, and we flew in silence for fifteen minutes, with me slowly relaxing and becoming more comfortable flying the chopper despite the situation. Then Filia spoke up. 

"I need to go to the washroom." She sounded embarrassed. 

"Well, we don't have one. You'll just have to sit on it." Dynast sounded beyond exasperated. 

"I can't. I needed to go even before we got on this thing." 

I snickered. "Don't worry, missy. I'm sure my future brother-in-law won't mind a pretty girl peeing on him." He wasn't going to shoot the guy flying the chopper no matter what disturbing fetishes I accused him of, or at least I was pretty sure he was too cold-blooded for that. 

"Considering that you— _ulg!_ " 

I blinked and glanced over my shoulder. 

Gaav had made his move. 

I wasn't quite sure how he'd managed to bring his legs up in such a confined space, but he'd gotten both his feet over the back of the seat and locked his calves around Dynast's neck. The younger man's eyes were bulging out and he was clawing at Gaav's legs with his hands. His _empty_ hands. 

"Filia, kick his gun away!" I snapped. A moment later, the pistol came sliding forward . . . just before a jackhammer hit the back of my seat. Dynast's feet, probably, but I didn't have time to check. My arms jerked, yanking at the controls, and the helicopter tilted almost on its side. _Shit! Shitshitshit!_ My shoulder slammed into the wall and my foot hit a pedal and now we were spiralling too. 

I was sweating buckets as I tucked both my feet back, under my own seat—better that I temporarily lose access to those controls than keep punching them at random!—and delicately worked the hand controls to bring the helicopter upright again. There was fighting going on behind me, but I didn't dare divert my attention from the chopper to take a look. _Steady . . . yeah, like that. Level out and just feather that pedal . . ._ A hand that I could tell wasn't Gaav's came scrabbling forward toward the pistol, so I stepped on it, grinding my heel in. That got me a curse from Dynast, and then the entire helicopter lurched again, to the left this time, as a big chunk of weight was thrown in that direction. I adjusted the hand controls delicately to compensate. _I do not_ ever _want to have to do this again._ Especially since not being able to look back was pure torture. Gaav might have been bleeding his life out on the floor, and I wouldn't know, or be able to do anything about it without sending us spiraling straight down into a hillside. 

Muffled sounds, impossible to make out above the noise the helicopter was making. I thought I heard the crunch of someone's nose cartilage being smashed, though. Hopefully, it was Dynast's. I stared out the window, looking for a place to bring the stupid chopper down (assuming I could do it without killing us), but we were flying over hill country, all mud and bushes and half-hidden ravines. No pavement, or even flat rocks. 

I gritted my teeth and began to make another wide, gradual turn. We'd just have to go back towards town. Dynast didn't have a gun now, so there was a lot less he could do to threaten us. Behind me, Gaav swore, and there were more thudding and thumping noises. 

"Check him and see if he's got a key for these fucking cuffs." I almost sent the helicopter drifting off course again, I was so relieved to hear Gaav's voice saying something that suggested the fighting was over. 

"I'm trying," Filia said. "No, these look like car keys. I think maybe this?" 

"Looks about right. Let's try it." 

Fumbling and muttering. Then a sigh of relief. 

"Thought I was never going to get my fucking circulation back." Some more noises in the back, and then Gaav was sliding into the seat beside me. "You did pretty good there, Val." 

I snorted. "Either praise me properly, or don't bother." I was smiling, though—I couldn't help it. He might be bruised and battered and just as filthy as I was, but he was still there . . . and for practical purposes, it was over. All of it. There were some legal-type things to tie up, but I didn't think there would be any more people shooting at each other. "There's just one thing." 

"Hmm?" 

"Help me land this stupid chopper without plowing a new ravine somewhere?" 

My fiance laughed. "Of course I will." 

Leaning toward each other, we stole a quick kiss, not caring who was watching from the back seat. 

* * *

**[Excerpt from the journal of Gaav Magnus]**

The clean-up wasn't quite as simple as landing the chopper back at the dead town and handing Dynast, in his full handcuffed, broken-nosed glory, over to Milgazia, but doing that did help. And Val seemed to really enjoy seeing the Supreme Elder trussed up like a chicken. Spat on the bastard, for which I don't blame him at all. 

This isn't the end, though. We're going to be up to our eyeballs in legal shit for years. Me especially. I just hope we can come up with some saner arrangement than me and Zelas following Dynast from country to country to testify that he's a vicious asshole who's killed people and dealt in drugs and weapons and committed every kind of fraud and white-collar crime there is. I mean, we're both going to have to testify to avoid being caught up in the whole mess along with him, but I'm hoping we can do it at one central location and get it over with. 

And then are the family assets. Magnus Enterprises itself is perfectly legal and above-board, and so are some of the smaller holdings—it was all built up to help with money laundering, but a lot of it hasn't been used even for that since before I was born, so no one should be able to confiscate it. I don't want to take an active role in running what's left, but it would look weird if Val and I didn't get anything at all. Maybe instead of going for vacation on a tropical island, I should see if Zelas can _give_ us a fucking tropical island. That and a few board-of-directorships would probably look reasonable. 

But I'd bet we're going to end up spending a lot more time here in Anahar. At least until Val's worked through everything he needs to work through, and that's going to take years. 

I don't begrudge him, though. If it's going to heal the hurts he still carries around with him, I'll stay here for the rest of my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't until I'd written all the way to the Zanaffar-analogue mech getting blown up that I realized exactly why I'd stuck Val with piloting lessons.
> 
> Just the epilogue left now . . .


	43. Epilogue

" . . . and rejoin the flow of life that Ceiphied guards. Let it be so." 

"Let it be so," I echoed, part of a ragged chorus of friends and strangers. Some of them were Paladins of Gold, or clergy of the Church of Ceiphied Arisen. Several were atheists. In fact, the priest might be the only true believer in the Old Rite here. Father Rolencio didn't seem disturbed by that, though. 

I'd been more than a bit surprised when Gaav had suggested we ask the priest who had replaced "Father Kotomine" in Seyruun to perform the memorial ceremony, but when I'd met the man, I was glad he had. Father Rolencio was one of the most compassionate people I'd ever met, and he'd agreed immediately to conduct the long-overdue funeral for my people. 

The monument for the gravesite wouldn't get here until tomorrow. Although the rainy season had ended more than a month ago, the roads here were still pretty bad, and the haulage company hadn't wanted their truck to break an axle. Or so they said, but as long as the thing got here, I was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. And pay them extra, if that was what they wanted. 

"Val? You okay?" Gaav squeezed my shoulder lightly. 

"Just thinking," I replied. "Let's go get out of these monkey suits." I'd been willing to dress up to show respect, but the ceremony was over now, and the climate in Anahar wasn't really suitable for men's formal wear. I almost wished I'd tried to revive the sleeveless tunics over baggy trousers that my ancestors had traditionally used instead. 

Gravos was waiting with the car. He'd settled easily into the routine of construction worker and occasional chauffeur, spending most of his time helping to set up the new visitor center. We weren't going to try to repopulate the town, we'd decided that, but between the archaeologists who were going to be excavating the old temple and the occasional adventurous tourists, we'd decided that we needed something to see to the needs of travellers. We were fixing the old motel, and the visitor center would have a cafe and a small store as well as an information center. And a gas pump—we'd decided that some kind of local supply was a necessity, since the next-nearest gas station had closed down during the years that I'd been away. The old motel cabins, which I'd forgotten existed until they'd been found by Gravos while he was clearing some brush, were being repurposed as staff housing. 

The road to the plateau was a different problem. It was only one lane wide in places, and the remaining pavement was falling apart. We had enough money for the most urgently needed repairs, thanks to Zelas, but the permission to apply that money was bogged down in government red tape. In time, either it would wriggle loose, or Gaav and I would make history as the only Syndicate members ever to be charged with illegal road repair. 

Not that there was technically a Ruby-Eye Syndicate left to belong to. There were a lot of people in jail, including Dynast, and a lot of property had been seized by various law enforcement agencies. Although that hadn't exactly left the Magnus family destitute. I didn't know exactly what had been confiscated, what had been sold, and what Zelas had kept, but in addition to the road-repair money, Gaav and I had come away with some shares, a couple of honorary positions in some company I'd never even heard of, and a small tropical island that, from the description they'd given us, was ninety percent banana plantations. 

Maybe we could do the tropical vacation thing there, now that the memorial ceremony was over. It had been on hold for months now. Mind you, it would just mean moving from the hotel room we occupied here to another one somewhere else. Or we could go back to Wolf Pack Island, or even Seyruun for a while. I'd promised myself that I wasn't going to stay here forever, guarding the grave and the ruins. They didn't need it, and it wouldn't even make anyone feel any better. Including me. 

Plus, I didn't want to spend the rest of my life living in a motel. I wanted a real home. I hadn't had one of those in years. The closest I'd come was while I'd been living on Wolf Pack with Gaav, but I hadn't stayed there long enough to put my own mark on the apartment. 

Suddenly, the toe of my shoe hit something as I was raising it to take a step forward, and I yelped "Shit!" and windmilled my arms. 

Gaav put his hand on my shoulder and steadied me. "You must have been thinking really fucking hard to trip over something like that," he said, jerking his chin at the metal threshold thing on the hotel door. Okay, so it stuck up maybe a sixteenth of an inch, to seal water out during the rainy season. It was still pretty embarrassing to trip over, and I could feel myself going red. 

"Good thing you were here to catch me, then," was all I could find to say. 

"Yeah." Unexpectedly, he leaned over and kissed my temple. "Hope you were thinking about me." 

"Kind of." Since home for me now was going to be wherever he was. 

"Good enough. Because tonight, I'm not going to let you think about anything else." 

"Why wait until tonight?" I asked with a smirk. 

Gaav chuckled. "I wasn't sure you'd find it appropriate, coming so close to the funeral." 

"I like that word— _coming_. But no, it used to be . . . not unusual . . . for the adults to pair off at, say, the end of a wake. Celebrating life after death or something like that." 

"Sounds like a great custom." My fiance leered, and I laughed. We still hadn't set a date for the wedding, but I figured there was no hurry. I trusted his promises, and his ring felt good and solid on my finger. 

We were still staying in one of the rooms just past the lobby, although it had a real bed in it now, with a mattress, one of a half-dozen that we'd managed to get hauled up here. The blankets overtop were still the military surplus issued to Syndicate security forces, but neither of us really cared. I mean, who spends much of their time looking at the blankets on their bed? Being gay doesn't mean I give a damn about interior decoration. The only reason I was thinking about it at all was that the first thing I did when I entered the room was take off my tie and throw it at the bed. 

My suit jacket landed on the floor beside it, and then I was backed up against the edge of that bed, my mouth locked with Gaav's as he began to unbutton my shirt. At the same time, I was working on his tie. I'd had the chance to peel him out of a tailored suit before, but it never stopped being fun. This time, I unbuttoned his shirt without trying to get his jacket off him, and teasingly traced the lines of the muscles underneath with my fingertips, feeling them twitch as I found sensitive spots. 

I had to lean up to fasten my mouth on his neck. That was another thing I loved doing: marking him. Making sure that everyone knew that he was taken. He couldn't take the hickeys and scratches off the way he could the ring. They did heal, given time, but until they did . . . 

He groaned as I took a fold of skin between my teeth and tugged gently. His hands started to move faster, taking care of the last few buttons on my shirt and my belt buckle and fly. My bare ass hit the bed, and I smirked and used the firm grip I'd taken on his shirt and jacket to haul him down on top of me. I spread my legs wide, and his still-clothed lower body pressed against my cock. _Fuck_ , that felt good, and I humped his thigh unashamedly. 

"You could at least give me a chance to get naked," my lover said. "This is supposed to be a two-person activity, remember? And I don't want you to finish without me." 

"Then give me a better angle on your belt," I retorted. 

"You're the one who's holding me down." 

Oh, well. I let go of his shirt. Well, one side of his shirt. And he did undo his belt and his fly. Then he hauled the elastic of his undershorts down just far enough to let his package loose. 

"If you're in that much of a hurry, I figure I can leave my shoes on," he said, sounding smug. And producing a tube of lube from his pocket, which made me snicker. 

"You brought lube to the funeral? Makes me wonder what you did after ceremonies at that church of yours." 

"Not much. After all, you weren't there, and I couldn't exactly fuck the statue of Ceiphied. The parishioners were off-limits, and besides, most of the men who came in were already married. Now. No more questions." He leaned into me again so that our erections rubbed together, and I let out a moan of pure desire. And again as he slid two fingers inside me—I was loose enough to take that without prep these days, given how often we fucked. He scissored them, making sure I was well-stretched and -lubed. I whined and squirmed, trying to get him to hit my prostate, but he was grinning his evil grin and keeping his fingers away from there. I didn't have to wait for long, though, because he pulled his fingers out of me after only a quick prep and lubed up his erection, and I spread my legs farther and angled my lower body to welcome him in. 

The burn of the additional stretch made me hiss, but only until Gaav's still-slick hand closed around my erection and began to pump, matching the rhythm of his thrusting. The head of his cock rubbed over my prostate with every thrust and his hand gripped my erection just so and it felt like . . . kind of like coming home. 

I was never going to get tired of this, or of him. How could I? It was everything I'd ever wanted. _He_ was everything I'd ever wanted, and now he was all mine. It felt so good, the heat of his body pressing against mine, the way his cock stretched me open as the ache faded to be replaced by pure pleasure, and of course his hand on my cock, thumb rubbing over the head, short nail teasing delicately at the slit . . . 

"Gaaaaaav." His name drew out into a long moan as he ran his fingers along my jaw, calluses over smooth, recently-shaven skin. "I think I'm gonna . . ." 

"So what are you waiting for?" 

"You," I said. "Want us to come . . . at the same time . . ." And . . . well, I kind of tried to squeeze him, but I was so stretched it was difficult to get any leverage. It got a reaction, though, because he growled under his breath and began to pound me harder. I'd never known before I met him that being dominated this way in bed, forced to share my partner's rhythm, could be such a turn-on, and it worked its magic this time too. I could feel the heat inside my body condensing rapidly, beyond my control, and I yelled as I erupted like a geyser and he rammed himself as deep into me as he could go and began to spurt. 

He bowed forward over me, both of us sweaty and breathing hard in the aftermath, and I shifted slightly because his small movement inside me was almost too much for my sensitized body. 

"Good thing I'm not going to need this suit again for a very long time," he said after several moments of silence, and I laughed. 

"Serves you right," I said, and we both grinned together. 

Yeah, home was probably here, lying under him. And even after all the crap I'd been through to get here, I still felt like the luckiest guy in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, folks. I have another (shorter) finished Gaav/Val story (not AU) that I need to proofread for continuity and will probably start posting in a couple of weeks, and one even longer than this that's within a couple of chapters of being done. See you soon!


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